To Us
by Mhai-kun
Summary: Hermione Granger and Fred Weasley had absolutely nothing in common. But when Fred accidentally lets one of his mischievous schemes go wrong, Hermione is dragged into his world of chaos and rule-breaking — and somewhere along the way, she realizes that his world isn't so bad. And what will happen once she agrees to help them with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes over Christmas?
1. Bag in the Library

You wouldn't expect to be lucky enough to get one in the middle of November, but on perfect sunny days like the one they were having now, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loved nothing better than to lounge around the school grounds, milling about on the grass, swapping stories and complaining about teachers and pieces of homework that only got them a four out of ten. Some people elected to stay indoors, playing Exploding Snap in their common rooms or sleeping in. Nobody ever wanted to work on days like this. Not Harry Potter, certainly (who for all his fame and greatness was at the moment trying extremely hard to beat his best friend Ron Weasley in their seventh consecutive game of Wizard's Chess; he'd lost spectacularly in the first one and was getting better and better as they went along — if your definition of "better" included avoiding a checkmate for longer than ten minutes), and not Draco Malfoy (he had taken over one corner of the courtyard with his fellow Slytherins, who made it a point to laugh in appreciation at everything he said). Nobody sane would waste a gorgeous Saturday surrounded by tottering piles of books or furiously scribbling the fifteen different ways to cure severe acne. Nobody — except, perhaps, Hermione Granger.

Which wasn't to say that she disliked sunny days or was simply hard-wired to function only for work. As hard as it was for others to believe, she enjoyed relaxing as much as the next person. Studying was very, very important, but as a human being she knew that she had her limits. Or rather, she'd realized that after her exhausting third year, during which she had attempted to take all twelve subjects.

But maybe she could save that lazy day for tomorrow; she couldn't possibly afford to laze around today — not when she had several essays to start and needed a lot of books that she couldn't get because they'd already been borrowed. In addition, as her fifth year education consisted of taking the O.W.L.s, it was unthinkable to put off studying for them. The O.W.L.s and the N.E.W.T.s were both vital to a student's future (as the teachers were so wont to remind them), and she wanted to do well. Her classmates, however, weren't in as much of a hurry as her — they weren't supposed to hand in the essays until the week after, and the O.W.L.s wouldn't take place until last two weeks of the second term.

Hermione's year had started preparing for their O.W.L.s ages ago, of course, but she began her own, more serious studying (if studying more seriously than she had before was even possible) since buying her books from Flourish and Blotts during summer vacation. In spite of all this, the very last thing she wanted was to be behind on her homework too, and if Professor Binns wanted three rolls of parchment on the fall of the Icarus the Idle, she'd better get it done right away — especially since Professor Sinistra wanted four feet on the precise positions of all sixty-three of Jupiter's moons during the winter solstice, as well.

Hermione flitted between the shelves, muttering to herself as she browsed for alternative references to use. She was already balancing three heavy-looking tomes precariously on one arm when she reached up for a fourth. It was wedged in between two other books about the size of large cinderblocks, and though she tugged and pulled as hard as she could, it simply wouldn't slide out. After about a minute's fruitless effort, she put her remaining ounce of strength into giving one last mighty pull, and it finally popped out — but she would have toppled over from the sheer weight of it had it not been for the person who happened to walking down the same aisle, squeezing himself behind her. As he drew level with her, the boy caught the book just in time to keep it from falling onto her face.

"Thanks," said Hermione, looking very flustered as she tried to take the book from him clumsily with her free hand.

"I don't think you're going to be able to lift this like that," said the boy, sounding amused.

Hermione lifted her head and found herself looking into the freckled face of Fred Weasley. Although it _may _have been George. He and his twin (whichever twin this one might be) were identical in every way, so it was almost impossible to tell them apart; even their own mother had a hard time with it. But Hermione always thought that Fred was lopsided, somehow — whether it was his posture or smile or something else, she couldn't say.

"Sorry… Fred," she said. "I hadn't noticed it was you."

"Yeah," said the twin with a sigh. It was Fred, then. "That might have something to do with the fact that I've only ever been in here once — and that was when in my first year, when someone had tipped George and I off about there being a book in the Restricted Section that told you how to find and get into the vanishing door on the fifth floor. You can imagine how _that _went."

"Oh. So what _are_ you doing here?"

"Looking for a book, obviously," said Fred, taking another of Hermione's and leading the way to the nearest table — without mentioning, of course, that going any farther than the nearest table would probably make him pull a tendon or something. He figured that the book must have weighed half a ton, and suddenly he had a newfound appreciation for Hermione. He never talked to her much, but he knew for a fact that she usually lugged stuff like this around on her back every single day. Being able to carry three of them on one arm alone was pretty impressive, and he made a mental note to compliment her for it.

"That much I could tell," Hermione said coolly, pulling up a chair. She drew out a roll of parchment, her quill, and a bottle of ink. As she unscrewed the lid, she said, "What kind of book, exactly?"

"Oliver Wood's trying to devise new game strategies and wants to consult one," he answered, rolling his eyes.

"Angelina's starting you a bit early, though, isn't she?" she said distractedly, picking up one of her books.

Fred looked at her questioningly.

"What d'you mean?"

"Well — you said Oliver Wood's trying to devise new game strategies. I think you got him mixed up with Angelina."

"I wish," said Fred grimly. "Nope, you heard right. Oliver really is here."

"Oh — but he's already graduated, hasn't he?" asked Hermione in surprise as she looked up. Oliver Wood had been Captain and Keeper of the Gryffindor House Quidditch team, but had left two years previously. "I thought he got signed as a reserve for Puddlemere United."

"He _has_," said Fred. "But he had some time to kill, so he wrote McGonagall and Dumbledore and Hooch and just about every other teacher to ask if he could come back and train us for a bit." He sounded almost depressed. "Wanted to see how we'd gone on without him and make a few improvements; Angelina took it as a personal insult. Still, though, he was pretty pleased with her for being made Captain. Hasn't Harry told you anything?"

"No." But then again, she'd been visiting the library so often these days that he might simply have had no opportunities to let her know. "I didn't even notice him arrive."

"Yeah, well, he came in at the crack of dawn about a week ago with all his stuff and an even more determined attitude than the one he left with."

"Then where's he been staying?"

Fred shrugged.

"Not at the Tower. No room, since he can't stay in his old dormitory. I think he'll only be here for about two months so he's probably just set up someplace. Spends most of his time on the pitch, anyway, holding his broom and staring off into the distance like some tragic hero. It's been a couple of years, but he hasn't changed at all. I'd nearly forgotten that manic look he always got in his eyes…"

Hermione frowned.

"Wouldn't it be unfair for a reserve of a professional Quidditch team to coach students, though?"

Fred nodded fervently.

"That's what we thought. As much as we want to win, it's just not the same when you cheat at Quidditch. Well, granted, Beaters get fouled a lot because we tend to be pretty —"

"Destructive?"

"I was going for aggressive, but yeah, that too. Anyway, it's part of the job description."

He sighed.

"But from experience, we should've remembered that Oliver's an unstoppable force of nature when he wants to be. I don't even want to think about what he had to say — or _do_ — to get Dumbledore to let him in. I mean, he was a handful before, and Angelina's been hard on us enough — but _getting him back?_" He shook his head. "We think he's a brilliant Keeper and all that, but honestly, I thought we'd been shot of him for good."

"I'm sure it can't be _that_ bad."

"You must not know him very well, then. Our last match isn't even until _May_. We aren't due to start practice till after the New Year! Thank God Dumbledore's restricted him to scheduling and watching practices only. You know, to be fair to the other teams."

"Oh. That's fine, I guess."

"Does us a lot of good too, or he'd keep us going for days. But if you ask me, no book can ever hope to outdo his mad schemes, so I don't see the point. I don't even know why he's made _me _do this. He must've borrowed every single book about Quidditch that the school has to offer. Maybe even the ones outside Hogwarts too."

"But why isn't George with you? Wouldn't it be easier to do this if you were together?" Hermione couldn't recall ever having seen one twin without the other.

Fred snorted.

"Oliver caught up with us on our way back from breakfast, ordered me to deal with this, and then he told George he needed someone to throw Quaffles at him for practice. Says he doesn't want to 'neglect his duties as a member of the second ranking team in the league.'" He rolled his eyes again. "_Then what's he doing back in his bloody school instead of training with them?_ I tried convincing him to let me join George instead, but he told me off and said that if we wanted to beat Ravenclaw and do him proud I'd better put some effort in."

"Well, he just wants us to win, that's all," said Hermione as she opened her book.

"Hasn't he even _heard_ that we just beat Slytherin in the first match of the season, two hundred and thirty to forty? Best match we've had in a long time! Cup's pretty much in the bag now. I think he's just punishing us for trying to knock him off his broom the other day for a joke, and I got the brunt of it. Then again, I _was_ the one who made sure he would land in a great pile of —"

"Yes, all right," Hermione said rather hastily before he could go on, feeling a bit queasy; she didn't really want to find out exactly what Fred had placed underneath Oliver. "Anyway, I really do hope you find one. There's bound to be one he hasn't read yet…" She pondered for a moment. "Try _Quidditch Matches of the Twentieth Century:_ _Fouls and Fair Games_. It was brought in just last Tuesday from Madam Hooch's office. Apparently she borrowed it ages and ages ago and only just remembered to return it. I'm surprised Madam Pince hasn't reported her to Dumbledore yet."

"Didn't think you'd be keeping tabs on sports," said Fred, eyebrow raised.

"I don't," she said with a sniff, now gliding her finger down the table of contents for the chapter she was looking for. "It just so happens that I was in here at the time." But her cheeks were tinged slightly pink, and Fred got the feeling that it was because she'd made it her life goal to read her way through the entire library before she graduated.

"All right, then, don't let me keep you," Fred grunted as he stretched widely and ruffled his bright red hair. "Thanks for the advice. He'd better be happy with that book, because if he's not, I'm bewitching it to look like a Quaffle so I can chuck it at his head."

"It's the second aisle on the left side from the back," she said as she found her page. "It should be black with yellow lettering."

"Right. See you." He was about to leave when he suddenly turned on his heel and stared long and hard at her, his brow furrowed. "Come to think of it, you _wouldn't_ happen to know where the book on the vanishing door is, would you?"

"No." Hermione smiled, now beginning to write her essay. "But you can always give it a go, if you're feeling up to it. Madam Pince is in a particularly horrible mood."

"Why?" asked Fred warily.

"During her usual daily inspection she discovered a tiny ink dot on the first page of _From Wizard to Warlock: A Student's Guide to Higher Magics_ and threw a fit. She's over there yelling at Terry Boot, if you want to see."

"I quite like having my head attached to my neck," said Fred after peering through a bookshelf to get a look, "so I think I'll pass."

He strode off in the direction Hermione had pointed him in and she bent down over her parchment. For a while, she could hear nothing but the soft scratching of her quill and Terry Boot calling Madam Pince various names under his breath as he put away his things a few tables over. Several paragraphs in, however, she heard the unmistakable sound of Fred stomping back towards her. Looking up, she saw that he looked very grumpy.

"Is anything the matter?" she asked, startled.

"Yeah," he said in a disgruntled sort of voice. He slumped into a chair opposite her and placed his bag at his feet, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "It wasn't there. Looked for Pince and asked for it, and she said Hooch's took it out again because she realized that she'd given back her own copy and not the library's by mistake. What kind of person gets two copies of the same bloody book?"

Hermione blushed at this. She'd actually bought two copies of _Hogwarts: A History_ herself — in case one of them got lost. And as it was one of her favourites, it only made sense for her to want an extra copy around for such an occasion. Then she remembered that she hadn't actually said anything to Fred about it and didn't have any need to be so defensive.

"I tried looking through the other books too," said Fred, who didn't seem to have noticed her internal struggle and was going on with his story, a disgusted look on his face, "but Oliver's got his name in every damn one at least three times. I knew this was all some stupid joke. He's stuck his nose in every book that makes even a single mention of the word 'Quidditch.'"

As much as she wanted to continue doing her homework, Hermione had never seen Fred look so upset about a book. She might even have found it funny if he didn't look so serious about it.

"What'll he do if you turn up without one?"

"Probably tell Angelina to make me take care of all the broomsticks for a month," he replied dully. "Mine's been looking dreadful for days, and Alicia's has started losing twigs."

"Then maybe you can tell him you hadn't found anything? I mean, he'll understand, won't he?"

"Yeah, I'll tell him. If I ever want him to use me as a Bludger target for George, that is. Honestly, it was just a bit of bowtruckle droppings, you'd think he hadn't learned a cleaning spell or two —"

"I wouldn't call a massive pile of bowtruckle dung the size of an anthill a 'bit'," said a voice from behind Hermione. She turned her head and saw that it was Lee Jordan.

"Hey, Hermione."

"Hello, Lee."

"What're you doing here?" said Fred, seeming to have forgotten Hermione was there at all.

This suited her perfectly well, however, and she returned to her essay as Lee then went on to explain what he had been doing before discovering Fred. But she'd left her quill on the parchment for too long, and it had left a large blot at the end of her lengthy discussion of Icarus the Idle's failed attempts at starting a rebellion against the Ministry with only three other participants. She waved her wand and it disappeared.

"…went to visit George at the Quidditch pitch when Katie told me what was going on," Lee was saying, "and the minute I got there Oliver yelled at me to look for you in the library because you were taking too long finding whatever it was he wanted you to find. Just like the good old days, eh? I wasn't sure if he was being serious or not, though. What's he want a book for, anyway?"

"Hell if I know, I'm the last person you want to ask."

"When he told me he'd sent you off to the library I was kind of worried that you'd already died of boredom."

Fred glanced sideways at Hermione and grinned slightly.

"I had a bit of company to keep me alive. But I'm going back to the Tower, I couldn't find anything."

"Oh, good, let's go," said Lee. "I missed breakfast so I nicked a few things from the kitchens and left them in our room, I'm starving."

"Okay. Well, we're off, Hermione. Thanks for the help."

"You're welcome."

The two boys walked away and left Hermione feeling somewhat grateful that she could now continue her work in peace. They had just closed the heavy library doors behind them when she bent down over her essay again and, crossing her legs, felt her foot hit something soft underneath the table. It didn't take her long to figure out what it was.

She sighed; Fred had forgotten his bag.

She reached for it and pulled it out. It was bulky and oddly-shaped but very light. Or maybe she was just so used to having _Hogwarts: A History_ (along with her Arithmancy book, Spellman's Syllabary, and various other rune translations) with her at all times that a bag with anything less in it seemed light to her. She was quite tempted to peek inside, but her good sense told her otherwise — something about looking into the contents of one of the Weasley twins' bags unnerved her. But Fred would have to wait to get his bag back if he wasn't planning on returning for it; Hermione was behind schedule already and she really didn't want to waste any more time.

And by then she was so focused on being productive that she hadn't noticed Fred's bag twitch — almost as if something alive were inside.

* * *

I've been working on this one for months, and it's finally finished. ;v; I'll be putting up a new chapter every week, so I hope you'll stick around!


	2. One Rule Broken, Two Minds Distraught

EDIT: I missed a few details, but I've just added them in.

* * *

It was when they were halfway up the stairs to the boys' dormitories that Fred realized that his shoulders felt unusually weightless.

"Damn," he said, looking wildly around him as if he expected it to have dropped off his back and was now lying somewhere on the staircase, "hang on, Lee, I think I've left my bag in the library."

Normally, he wouldn't have cared if he'd lost his bag; if anyone tried to steal it, the best they'd get would be a few coins and maybe a handful of Fizzing Whizbees. But not today. There was something inside it that he'd been trying very hard to keep secret since this morning, and he'd managed to accidentally leave it in the care of one of the nosiest people he knew.

"_What?_" Lee spluttered. "But don't you have —"

"I know," said Fred. What Hermione would do when she discovered what was inside, he didn't want to think about. Accidentally leaving it in Snape's classroom and watching the chaotic events unfold would have been hilarious, but Hermione was like a student version of McGonagall — and Fred would take Snape over McGonagall any day.

"What about the plan? Do we abort?"

"'Course not! Which is why I need to go and get my stuff _right now_." He gave Lee a very long, pointed look.

"I'm not going back," Lee complained. And as though to illustrate his point, his stomach growled loudly. "If you want to go, be my guest."

"Yeah, yeah, fine," said Fred, taking the stairs two steps at a time. "If George gets back before I do, tell him that I'm trying to get us both not killed!"

He sprinted past Ron and Harry playing Gobstones in the common room and almost crashed into Demelza Robins as he shot through the portrait hole and scrambled out. He blew past several teachers on the way; Snape barked at him not to run in the corridors and he nearly knocked Flitwick off his feet. A gaggle of oncoming Hufflepuffs screeched and scattered as he raced through them. He turned a corner and made a beeline for the open library doors — where he bumped right into Hermione, and she gasped as they collided. Fred's bag spilled from her arms, and he threw himself at it without thinking — catching it just before it hit the ground. Though his cheek stung from slamming into the cold stone, he sighed in relief; he could still hear a bit of movement from within, and he gave the bag a shaky, reassuring pat. _He'd saved it._

"Fred!" Hermione exclaimed. She was clutching very tightly onto her shirt, at the spot right above her heart. "You frightened me!"

"Sorry," Fred panted. "There's something — er — fragile in here. Didn't want it to break, that's all."

Hermione smoothed out her skirt and extended a hand to him. Fred took it and got to his feet, slipping his arms through the straps of his backpack.

"I-I didn't think it would take you so long to remember you'd left it behind," said Hermione.

"Well, like I said, fragile content. I don't usually have stuff like that, and I didn't think losing it mattered until I remembered what was in it. Anyway, thanks for getting it for me." It didn't sound as if she'd looked inside at all.

"You're welcome," she said. "Are you going back to the common room?"

"Oh, yeah. Loads to do."

"Loads of what?"

"Homework."

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly as they started to walk.

"Why are you so keen to do it now? It's a weekend, isn't it?"

"Just want to get a bit of work done early for once," he replied. "You know, get on McGonagall's good side for the first time in all my years. George isn't around to share the load anymore, either, so I need to work doubly hard."

Transfiguration was the one subject Fred had passed in the O.W.L.s that George didn't, while Herbology was the one subject George passed that Fred didn't. Nobody had ever known the twins to have taken separate classes before this, but their mum thought it was for the best. They'd only scraped three O.W.L.s apiece, which, naturally, she hadn't taken too lightly. She'd told them that maybe it would do them a bit of good to stop relying on the other, for a change, or they'd never get anything done on their own.

"I don't believe a word of that," said Hermione.

"As you should," said Fred with a wise nod. "All right, you got me, I was lying. I'm actually going to swap out with George when he pretends to go to the loo so that I can put a hex on Oliver. Happy now?"

"If you don't want Gryffindor to win the next match or even have a chance at the Cup, then do whatever you want. Oliver's only trying to help," Hermione answered briskly, marching out of the double doors. "But mind you, I am a prefect. I'll take points off my own House if I have to."

"I haven't even _done_ anything yet!"

"Just promise me you won't touch him," Hermione warned. "Goodness knows you and George have gotten into more trouble than the rest of the school combined."

"Not unless you count Harry."

"Yes, well, he's only just beginning to catch up."

Fred seriously doubted this; _they'd _never met with You-Know-Who at least once a year.

"Tell you what, then," he said in a cheery voice, "I'll walk with you. That way you can keep an eye on me and there will be no hexing of the ex-Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team." He raised his right hand solemnly. "I swear."

Hermione cracked a smile, and seeing it made Fred feel a bit funny.

"Okay."

They talked the whole way. Fred asked Hermione questions she'd never been asked before, such as how her homework had gone (a question which, for once, was asked without the intent of copying off it), about her classes, her opinions on how much of a prat Cassius Warrington (a Slytherin Chaser) was on a scale of one to ten, and whether or not she had caught Madam Pince and Argus Filch snogging between the shelves in the library yet. She'd very nearly snorted at the last one.

"You're awfully chatty today," Hermione observed as they stepped into a passageway hidden behind a hanging tapestry. "What's gotten into you? Not managed to pull some prank on Malfoy, have you?" She now looked quite disapproving and strongly reminded Fred of his mother.

"Wouldn't dream of it. If I had, I'd be giving out sweets for free."

"From Skiving Snackboxes?"

Hermione had discovered their supply of Skiving Snackboxes (which they considered one of their greatest achievements to date) during one of her stays at the Burrow, and had since exercised her authority as a prefect by banning them from selling or showing them to the other students. Frankly, she saw them as highly dangerous. They were really only a range of sweets that made you seem ill enough to get out of class, and they also came with an antidote so that you could go back to normal and spend your now class-free day at your leisure. But the twins had reluctantly agreed to her demands, seeing as there were still some kinks that they hadn't quite worked out at the time (such as the little issue they'd had with their Nosebleed Nougat, where they couldn't quite stop the bleeding unless they stuffed bits of toilet paper up their nostrils and left them there for several hours) — and also because their mother trusted her more than she did them. If Hermione so much as dropped a hint about it in a friendly letter wishing Mrs. Weasley well, Fred and George would be out of the school before they could say Puking Pastilles. What Hermione had not done, however, was ban them from carrying on with their experiments altogether.

Undaunted by her comment, Fred said lightly, "They're a work in progress." And then, on a sudden inspiration, he said, "Although, I bet if I _had _been giving out sweets, I could give Malfoy our Fever Fudge prototypes 'by accident.' Let's both be honest — he'd look a right sight better if he had boils popping up all over his face."

Hermione burst into an unexpected fit of laughter, and Fred joined in. He realized he'd never seen her laugh so openly before — probably because he wasn't always around when Ron said something stupid. But there was something about seeing her laugh that made him ease up a little. But just before they emerged on the other side of the narrow passageway, they found themselves face-to-face with Malfoy himself, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him on either side. He looked furious, and all three of them were blocking the way out.

"Speak of the devil," said Fred under his breath.

"So," Malfoy sneered. "You thought you could go on saying things like that about me behind my back, eh, Weasley? You think you're so funny. But I suppose it makes you feel better about yourself."

Fred, who was at least a head taller than Malfoy and only a quarter as wide as Crabbe and Goyle put together, grinned effortlessly, while Hermione stood rigidly still beside him.

"There isn't anything wrong with telling the truth, is there, Malfoy?" he said. "I know everyone else would find you more attractive with boils. Oh — and is that a _pimple _on your forehead? Why, yes, the change is quite phenomenal! You look _ravishing_! Parkinson should be proposing any day now."

Malfoy's cheeks grew faintly pink.

"As if a blood traitor's opinions matter to me," he spat. "I see you've ditched your twin this time to go hanging about with disgusting Mudbloods like Granger there." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, which made Hermione ball her hand into a shaking fist.

"Maybe I _should_ feed you some Fever Fudge," said Fred out of the corner of his mouth. "Those boils will spring up all over your —"

"Fred, _no_," said Hermione, gripping his arm tight.

"_What_? He wouldn't be able to ride a broom for weeks and we'd win the Cup."

"Not trying to find somewhere nice and dark to snog, are you?" said Malfoy more loudly, ignoring them. "I'd rather you stick to that brother of yours permanently. Not that it would be much of an improvement, but at least there'd only be one kind of disgrace to the name of wizard walking around instead of two."

"And you seem to be under the laboured misconception that we care what you think," Hermione said scathingly. "I say 'laboured' since it's taken you an awful lot of time to realize that we don't want to listen to you talk. Except I figured you might just really love the sound of your own voice." Fred looked at her appreciatively.

"Oh, shut up," Malfoy said. "It took _you _about the whole period to realize that Professor Snape didn't _want _you showing off in class the other day when you were practically jumping up and down in your seat. '_Ooh, ooh, pick me, pick me! I know the answer because I know everything!_'" he said in a false voice, biting his lower lip in a distasteful imitation of Hermione's rather large front teeth. She flushed, silently fuming.

"Watch your filthy mouth," said Fred, advancing.

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly; this seemed to give Malfoy more confidence.

"Go on, then, defend your girlfriend," said Malfoy contemptuously. "Quite a family you two would make. But I feel sorry for your brats — they'd be better off rolling in the mud with the pigs. Or since you'll still be living there by then anyway, maybe they can just roll around the floor of your parents' house, Weasley, it's as bad as —"

Before he was able to get another word out, there was a flash of light that momentarily blinded Fred, and by the time he got his sight back Malfoy was flat on his face and out cold. Crabbe and Goyle were gone; they were fleeing for their lives, screeching as they stumbled away.

Fred hadn't noticed he'd held his breath until he deflated himself; Hermione had cast the spell so swiftly that he hadn't even had time to blink. She'd just whipped out her wand and in less than a second, _bam_ — Malfoy was on the ground. Fred ogled at her: her nostrils were flaring, her jaw was clenched, and she was standing tall with her wand extended in front of her.

"That'll teach him," she muttered, lifting her robes and stepping gingerly over Malfoy's motionless body as if he were a puddle of swamp muck.

"You're mad, you are," Fred said in utter awe. He hitched his bag further up his shoulders as he ran to keep up, almost tripping on Malfoy's sprawled leg. "That was _brilliant_! I didn't know you had it in you!"

Hermione bit her lip, took a deep, steadying, breath, and gave him a guilty little smile.

"I _am_ rather worried now that's over. Oh, I shouldn't have lost my temper. What'll I do if one of the teachers dock points off us? And even after I got thirty from Professor Vector the other day!"

Fred laughed, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Are you _kidding_? That was some of the fastest spellwork I've ever seen! Brightest witch of her age right here!" He clapped a hand to her back and hooted with glee. "Oh, just you wait! When George finds out about this Malfoy'll never hear the end of it!"

"Thank you, I suppose," said Hermione sheepishly, now looking at her feet. To be complimented by one of Hogwarts' most mischievous students (probably since its inception) was an honour in itself, especially since Hermione was the most by-the-book person Fred knew, besides Perfect Prefect Percy. "But please keep it a secret. I don't want anyone else finding out."

"What? Why?"

"Well… it wasn't a very nice thing for me to do. Even to Malfoy."

"Oh, lighten up! You and I both know he deserved it."

"Yes, and it did feel rather good," she admitted. "But if it's all the same to you, I'd still like to lie low."

"All right, fine. But if I ever have kids I'll make sure to tell them that Hogwarts' most outstanding student once hexed Hogwarts' most outstandingly annoying blond git in the blink of an eye and sent his gorilla mates off screaming."

"That much I'll allow," she said, her lips twitching in a small smile.

"Why'd you get so upset over what he said, anyway?" asked Fred, who was genuinely curious. "Personally, I wanted to jump him and knock his teeth out, but _you_ didn't have to."

It was lucky that Hermione's hair was so bushy Fred couldn't see her cheeks redden.

"It's just — I've had enough of him poking fun at my friends," she said hotly. "You're all worth a hundred of him, and he should know it. Just because he was born a Pureblood with parents swimming in enough money to buy half of Britain, he thinks he can walk all over everyone else! Money doesn't mean anything! Your family are some of the nicest people I've ever met —" Fred blushed at this "— and he has no right to say anything bad about any of you! It's as if his immediate response to any sort of threat is an insult! If he sinks any lower I'll honestly be surprised!"

She huffed. Then she buried her face in her hands, groaning.

"It was still wrong of me to do that to him, though. I don't lash out like that, normally. I wasn't thinking straight. I suppose it also has to do with the horrible things he said about Ginny yesterday… Oh, no, I do hope Professor McGonagall doesn't find out, and especially not Snape…"

Fred was speechless for a long while after that. He'd opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, unable to find the words. So he let her mutter on and on about how much she regretted it and how worried she was about getting caught. Although he felt slightly guilty because he was the one who had provoked Malfoy in the first place, what was there to say? He rubbed his neck, still trying to register the fact that Hermione had such a high opinion of the Weasleys, who were very poor. He and George took the mickey out of her all the time for being such a stick in the mud, and yet she defended him and his family like that, as she would have done if he had been Ron instead. He didn't know how to feel — embarrassed? Astonished? So to distract himself, he cleared his throat and expertly diverted Hermione's attention to Cormac McLaggen, who was tripped by his own robes when Fred pointed his wand at him. This made Hermione laugh again, and they carried on with their conversation as if nothing had happened.

When they finally climbed through the portrait hole, Hermione, who was now in much better spirits, bade him farewell and disappeared through the doorway to the girls' dormitories. Fred stood there, unmoving, for what felt like forever before George bumped into him from behind.

"There you are, Fred," he said, drenched in sweat and looking as if he'd run several marathons. "Didn't find that book, eh? Can you believe it, Oliver had me working for _three whole hours_ before I finally convinced him I had a detention scheduled with Snape! Told him I was supposed to organize those odd jars in his office and catalogue them." He tried moving his shoulder and winced. "God, I feel like my arm's about to drop off. Let's just grab some lunch and I'll nip into bed for a bit. Might even drop by the hospital wing if this doesn't get any b — oh, bloody hell, no, I forgot Oliver sleeps there. How's it look?" he said, pulling up his sleeve so Fred could see. "Think we can deal with it ourselves?"

"Er — is it _supposed _to be twitching?"

George grimaced and shook his sleeve down again.

"Then I'll have to put up with it for now. But we'd better cast an enchantment around my bed just in case Oliver comes snooping. It won't be long before he cottons on. C'mon, let's get going, I'm famished."

"Yeah, sure," Fred answered absentmindedly. "Okay, lunch."

But his head was so full of thoughts that later, after he and George had put their things back in their dormitory, he forgot to tell George about the little mishap with his bag that morning, and even about Malfoy (which he'd been planning to tell George anyway) as they walked down to the Great Hall. He kept missing his mouth with his spoon all through lunch so that his cheek was covered with crumbs from his shepherd's pie, and he hardly heard a word of George's story on how he'd thrown the Quaffle so hard that it shot out of the pitch, and how he'd almost escaped while Oliver flew off to catch it. He nodded whenever George paused, but his mind was elsewhere.

Hermione stood up for Harry and Ron all the time, as they did for her and each other, so it was no big deal, right? It was only natural that Malfoy would get on her nerves for insulting his family even if Ron wasn't with them. And anyway, he told himself, what other reason could there have been? It wasn't like she'd gotten upset over Malfoy teasing them about being together, right? He dismissed the thought as soon as it came to him. And even if she had, he reasoned, why was _he_ the one getting so hot and bothered about it? Hermione was ickle Ronnie's best friend. In fact, she and Harry had stayed over at the Burrow so many times over the years that in recent summers he and George would wake up in the morning and go looking for them around the house, only to remember that they didn't actually live there. She'd even seen him changing once when she passed his bedroom on her way up to Ron's to call him down to tea (luckily he'd still been wearing his pants at the time). He'd been completely unperturbed by her mortified words of apology; she may have well been a second sister to him.

But why couldn't he get her out of his head?

* * *

The following morning, Fred was pleased to see that Malfoy was shooting him dark looks and massaging his nose every so often, all the while whispering mutinously to Crabbe and Goyle. Madam Pomfrey must have patched him up in a heartbeat if he had gotten nothing worse than a broken nose from Hermione's flawless jinx — but if there was one thing she couldn't mend, it was pride. Fred smiled widely and gave Malfoy a jaunty little wave as he and George plonked down onto the bench next to Ginny. Ginny greeted them both good morning, and George gave Fred a weird look before pulling a plate of sausages towards him and spearing five of them on his fork.

"What's gotten into you today?" George asked through a mouthful of sausage.

"Nothing," said Fred, stealing one of George's sausages and helping himself to a couple of fried eggs and a few kippers.

Of course, that wasn't true in the slightest. The previous night, he'd had the oddest dream: He'd dreamt that he opened the front door to his dormitory and found himself in the library. There, in the farthest corner, was a softly dozing Hermione, using _Quidditch Through the Ages _as a pillow. Fred's backpack was sitting next to her head and was trying to hop off the table. He tried to run to her and catch his bag before it fell again, but with every step he took, the shelves seemed to stretch ever endlessly until it was as though the library were the size of Hogwarts itself. He woke with a start in a tangle of sheets, just as George was beginning to stir in his own bed.

Fred glanced down the Gryffindor table and casually searched for Hermione's bushy brown head. Sure enough, she was sitting next to Harry and across Ron several people away, this time reading the _Daily Prophet_, which was propped up against a jug. She was muttering silently to herself and frowning at her page. He tried to catch her eye, but she was too engrossed in her paper to notice him. He tore his eyes away reluctantly and returned to his eggs, which to his surprise had dwindled down to one, owing to George swiping the other one away while he'd been distracted.

* * *

Hermione peered sideways through her thick curtain of hair. She'd noticed Fred and George come in, and had even seen Fred wave at Malfoy before they sat down. He didn't seem to have seen her, and he was acting normally enough, so she turned back to the _Prophet _and tried to concentrate before realizing that for the past few minutes she'd been reading the same line over and over about a witch in Siberia who discovered a rare specie of hibernating plant in her basement.

She didn't know what had happened to her since the day before with Malfoy and Fred. She was feeling very anxious that Fred may not have been good on his word about keeping that little incident secret, but there was something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on. It was disconcerting. Maybe she was just reeling from the shock of attacking a fellow student and was only beginning to absorb the fear or someone spreading a rumour about it. With Fred being who he was, if he _had _said something to anyone else, then surely the stories would have spread like wildfire by then; even the teachers would have gotten wind of it. He must have kept quiet after all.

She picked up a piece of toast and nibbled it thoughtfully. Only Malfoy left to worry about. He was a prefect like her, so he could dock points off any student if he saw fit to do so. Though Hermione was immune from this power (prefects were not permitted to take points from fellow prefects), Malfoy could take as many points from Fred as he wanted. It had given her immense relief, therefore, to find that no substantial amount of rubies had been removed from the giant hourglass that recorded the Gryffindors' points when she'd entered the Great Hall that morning. Perhaps Malfoy had been too embarrassed about being one-upped by a girl that he'd also kept his mouth shut, something which would work to both his and Hermione's advantages anyway.

She looked up at him on impulse, and when he met her eyes a flash of fear crossed his face. He muttered something to Crabbe and Goyle, and they got up and left the hall without a backward glance. It was a relief to see that she wasn't going to be expecting any problems from them for a while.

"Why're you so tense?" said Harry, startling Hermione out of her reverie. Ron, meanwhile, was still trying to chew five strips of bacon at the same time and was unable to follow up with a comment of his own.

"A-am I?" said Hermione in a high voice.

She hadn't even told Harry and Ron about what had happened. Not that she didn't trust them; there was still that nagging feeling at the back of her head that she couldn't get rid of. She'd told them loads of things before, and they had even been around when she'd slapped Malfoy across the face in their third year. But then —

It couldn't be because of Fred, could it? Hermione frowned, and moments later decided that it couldn't be. Yes. It was absolutely impossible.

* * *

And so the second chapter makes its appearance! I hope you like it so far. I think one of my favorites is the one that's coming next, so I'm looking forward to putting it up! I've decided that instead of a whole week between updates, I'll just space each chapter by three or four days. Reviews would be greatly appreciated, and thank you so much for reading! uvu

EDIT: I've had to fix a few spelling errors here and there. c:


	3. Lost and Found

EDIT: I added in some of the dialogue that I'd forgotten to include. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Harry and Ron had decided to pay Hagrid a visit that afternoon and asked Hermione if she wanted to join them. She gave them a stern look and asked that if they'd started on their essays at all, and with much avoiding of the subject on their part and motherly scolding on hers, she finally gave in — but only after she'd made them promise to do their homework the moment they got back. They chatted animatedly as they strolled across the sloping lawns down to Hagrid's hut, from which smoke billowed out of the chimney. Though Halloween was now over, pumpkins were beginning to grow again in the pumpkin patch beside his house. Hermione knew that it was not the right season to be planting them, but she had the feeling that Hagrid had been keeping them nice and warm, a feeling bolstered by the flowery pink umbrella that was leaning against the cabin.

They arrived at the cabin and Harry rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Hagrid!"

There were scuffling noises from within, but no answer came. The three of them glanced at each other anxiously, and Fang began scratching and barking at the door. Harry knocked again, harder this time.

"Is everything all right?" he said, raising his voice. "What's going on in there?"

He had just pressed his ear against the wood when the door was yanked open by a very distressed Hagrid, making Harry stumble forward and into the hut.

"He's gone!" cried Hagrid, his ruddy face streaked with tears. His tangled hair was even wilder than ever, and there was a look of frenzied panic in his eyes. Fang was yanking at the hem of his moleskin overcoat with his teeth, whining.

"Who is?" said Harry, scrambling up.

"Me crup!"

"Your _what_?"

"His crup," Ron repeated, walking past Harry and sitting at Hagrid's scrubbed wooden table as calmly as though crups frequently disappeared from gamekeepers' cabins.

Hagrid moaned loudly as Harry and Hermione entered and shut the door behind them.

"I'd gotten 'im ter make a pal fer Fang, an' he's bin missin' since yesterday!"

"What's a crup?" Harry asked, immediately turning to Hermione.

"It looks like a Jack Russell Terrier," she answered automatically.

"Except it has a forked tail," added Ron. Hermione looked at him, surprised. "Oh, yeah, I had a second cousin who owned one of them when we were little. Charlie loved it. He always used to get mad when Fred and George set it loose in the Muggle village. They don't like Muggles, see," he explained for Harry's benefit, "so they get really vicious around them."

"Oh," said Harry. "Well, I'm sure we'd have heard about it if a Jack Russell Terrier became Hogwarts' new mascot."

"Tha's why I'm so worried. He ain't bin up to castle, I've bin lookin' since last nigh'," wailed Hagrid, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. He sat on his bed, which sagged under his weight. Fang laid his head on Hagrid's knee and whimpered. "Didn't get a wink o' sleep, neither."

"We'll help you look while you get some rest," said Hermione resolutely, and when Harry opened his mouth to protest she stamped on his foot.

Hagrid shook his head.

"I don't want ter bother yeh, what with all them O.W.L.s yeh've still got to study fer. But I can't just _leave _'im out there. Poor thing… he must be wanderin' around somewhere, cold an' lost an' — an' hungry. I've trained 'im not ter go into the forest withou' Fang so I know he can't be in there —"

"Why would anyone even _want _to go in there?" said Ron.

"He'll turn up, Hagrid," said Hermione. She patted Hagrid's arm consolingly and signalled Ron to make a pot of tea, which he did at once.

"Have you asked around?" asked Harry, his eyes watering from the pain in his foot.

"I can't," said Hagrid miserably. "Not even s'posed ter have one in the first place, mind, so yeh'd better not get any ideas. Migh' end up tellin' someone somethin' yeh shouldn't."

"So in other words this is like what happened with Norbert, but without the fire," said Ron grimly.

Hermione could vividly recall watching Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback hatch right in that very same cabin, and Ron's hand turning a hideous shade of green and swelling from a bite he got while helping Hagrid babysit him. Hermione hadn't been too fond of Norbert herself; four years ago, she and Harry, hiding underneath the Invisibility Cloak, had had to smuggle the thrashing baby dragon out of the castle in a crate so that Ron's brother Charlie's friends could fly him to safety. This they did in Hagrid's best interests, as owning a dragon in secret on the grounds of a school wasn't generally considered sane — or legal.

"Crups aren't dangerous at all, though," she said. "Well, they aren't to wizards, at least, so as long as it's still on the grounds everyone should be all right. What did you mean by you're not allowed to have one?"

"Yeh all know what Filch's like," Hagrid replied with a great sniff. "He'll have me head if he finds out I've got summat hidin' in me cabin."

Ron looked as though he were about to say something along the lines of Hagrid having so many odd creatures living in his cabin anyway that it wouldn't have mattered if he added one more to the ever-growing list, but Hermione cleared her throat loudly and he pursed his lips, busying himself with setting several rock cakes on a plate; Hagrid was depressed enough as it was without hearing _that_. Although she had to admit that no matter how uncomfortably close he'd come to getting sacked for owning things he oughtn't thus far, he just couldn't seem to grasp the concept that the Ministry of Magic illegalized certain magical creatures for a reason.

"May I ask where _exactly_ you got your crup?" asked Hermione slowly.

"From — from the Magical Menagerie, up at Diagon Alley," said Hagrid, tears leaking out of his crinkly black eyes. "Went ter buy more Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent and saw 'im in the window. Cute little thing he was, sittin' there, waggin' his tail an' all."

"At least we know he didn't get it from another hooded stranger in a pub," muttered Ron.

"And it _is _a normal crup, isn't it?" said Hermione, worried that Hagrid might have bought a fire-breathing one because he'd thought it was more interesting.

"O' course it is!"

"But Dumbledore ought to be all right with it, shouldn't he?" said Harry sensibly. "I mean, he won't get angry with you for wanting another pet."

"Jus' you wait," Hagrid said. "Filch would've found a way ter get rid of Caldwel eventually, even if this hadn't happened."

"_Caldwel_?"

"I'm assuming that's the crup's name," said Ron, his tone one of mingled resignation and disbelief as he now poured tea into four of Hagrid's enormous chipped mugs.

"The o'ny other thing I can think of is that he's bin kidnapped," Hagrid said, blowing his nose into a very large spotted handkerchief he pulled out of one his pockets as Harry handed him a mug. He waved it away and pointed instead to a bottle of brandy on a shelf above the mantelpiece. Harry tried to come up with something nice to say as he went to fetch it, but all he ended up doing was making a funny sort of noise at the back of his throat. He gave Hagrid the bottle, and he took a great swig before dissolving into heaving sobs.

"But who'd want to kidnap a crup?" said Ron, puzzled. "It isn't even very rare, it's just a pet."

"I'm sure no one would," Hermione said at once, taking a mug from the table. "Don't you think so too, Harry?"

Harry, who seemed to think that if he didn't agree Hermione would crush his other foot too, said, "Er — y-yeah, sure."

"Exactly. Ron's right, why would anyone want to take it?" said Hermione soothingly, speaking to Hagrid again. "Unless —"

Something dropped in the pit of her stomach. No one would want to kidnap a crup, of course.

Unless, say, it was someone who wanted to play a trick up at the castle.

Someone who _always _wanted to play tricks up at the castle. One of two someones, actually.

Someone who could have _easily_ fitted a creature that small into a backpack. Someone who had been unusually edgy about having left the bag in the library by accident.

Hermione's fingers tightened around her mug, and she stood up.

"I've got to take care of something," she said shortly. And before Harry and Ron could ask for any sort of explanation, she had slammed the door shut and was marching away with murder on her mind.

* * *

It had been a close shave thus far, but with Hermione out of the picture, everything was ready.

Fred slowly crept into Filch's room, choosing his footing very carefully, eyes darting around for possible booby traps. The last time he and George had sneaked in, they hadn't noticed the piece of string stretched across the doorway near their feet. Their shoes had caught it and they'd tripped, sending the buckets tied to one end of it crashing to the ground. It was a Muggle anti-intruder trick, but it had been proven to be quite effective, because soon after that Filch had come shuffling over almost at once. For that the brothers had earned themselves a good two-and-a-half hours of beating away the Venomous Tentacula from Professor Sprout's dittany plants, which they had been instructed to harvest and deliver to Snape. Needless to say, he had been none too pleased to receive a couple of students (let alone the Weasley twins) covered from head to foot in earth and manure into his office.

This time George was making sure Filch was preoccupied by shooting out sudden blasts of orange smoke every few feet as he ran through every corridor on the fourth and fifth floors. Even with Filch's extensive knowledge of Hogwarts' innumerable shortcuts and secret passages, he couldn't hope to outrun George — especially since he knew about secret passages, too. And it also didn't hurt that over the years the twins had developed remarkably powerful leg muscles from spending a good six-and-half years of their lives running away from teachers.

Naturally, the commotion had attracted the attention of Peeves the Poltergeist, who was only more than happy to assist in the ruining of Filch's life. He had taken it upon himself to pelt Filch with grapes as he whizzed through the clouds of smoke, cackling insanely. That was one of the strange things about Peeves — he could either be an ally or an enemy depending on what kind of trouble was going on.

Fred's backpack shuddered in his arms, and he patted it as if to say, "_Nearly there, now_." He reached one of the caretaker's massive filing cabinets and opened his and George's drawer (which, surprisingly, still had plenty of space; of course, you also had to take into account the fact that the twins had an entire drawer all to themselves). Unzipping his bag, he very gently picked up the creature within and placed it inside the drawer.

The crup looked inquisitively up at him, its tongue lolling out, looking for all the world like an innocent dog. However, the twins had had plenty of experience with crups in their childhood — and they knew that under the right circumstances, they could be anything but innocent.

He and George had "borrowed" the crup from Hagrid's hut just the morning before, the same day that Fred met Hermione in the library. It had been a lot easier than they'd anticipated, because Hagrid had been singing drunkenly at the top of his voice as he sploshed around the water barrel by his hut, washing his tankard, and hadn't heard them creep into his house through the back door and out again. The crup had come quietly enough, only sniffing their shoes curiously when they came in. The twins had really been worrying more about Fang, whose booming bark was so loud that even someone from up at the castle could have heard it — but fortunately for them, he'd been dozing off in his basket underneath Hagrid's patchwork quilt.

Their plan was simple: leave the crup in Filch's office, make their escape, wait for him to return, and watch the mayhem that from a safe distance. Crups were only ferocious towards Muggles, but as Filch was a Squib, the twins felt it wouldn't make much of a difference.

"Now," Fred said to the crup, whose ears perked up, "you stay here and wait until Filch gets back. He'll never know what hit him."

He gave it a pat on the head and gently closed the drawer. He was just about to leave when he heard someone thundering down the corridor, and before he could throw himself underneath the desk to hide, George crossed the threshold, panting heavily. Fred stared at him in alarm. This couldn't be good.

"George, what —"

"Couldn't — stop her — said she'd — write to Mum again — had me — up against a wall — Filch is coming —"

"You don't mean…?" Fred was already dreading the answer.

George could only nod wordlessly.

They looked at each other for a fraction of a second, understood, and made a break for it. They burst into the corridor and ran flat out in opposite directions, slamming the door closed behind them. They didn't mind Filch, but Hermione Granger — _she_ would be hell. If she managed to apprehend them, she wouldn't let them off with a detention. In fact, Fred was beginning to think that he wouldn't live to see another day in Hogwarts. He hurtled up a flight of stairs, tore down a corridor hidden by a vast and dusty statue of an ancient wizard holding a gnarled staff, and kept on going until he finally skidded into an unused classroom. He barricaded himself inside, locking the door and pushing several desks up against it. He sank onto one and tried to catch his breath. His heart was hammering in his chest.

"So it _was_ you who took Hagrid's crup," said a deadly voice from a corner of the room, making Fred flinch.

Hermione emerged from behind a stack of chairs, hands on her hips and eyes ablaze.

"I should have known," she said. "You were acting incredibly fishy yesterday. I can't _believe_ I hadn't seen it sooner! I guess I just got lucky when Harry and Ron decided to visit Hagrid. I never would have found out otherwise."

Fred didn't have time to feel guilty.

"How the _hell_ did you find me?"

"George. He wasn't exactly hard to find given the amount of bedlam he was causing upstairs, and as soon as he told me everything he could, I went to get the Marauder's Map." She pulled out a very familiar worn piece of parchment from her robes and tapped the dot labelled "Fred Weasley". "I saw where you were going and headed you off."

Fred smiled weakly; he never thought he'd be bested by an old friend. "Mischief managed?"

"Not on your life."

"How did you get to the Tower so fast, then?"

"Five years of being friends with Harry and Ron have done wonders for my sense of direction; I don't need the map to make my way around the castle these days," said Hermione. "But that's hardly the point. Look, it's been a long time since I gave up on caring about what you and George decide to get yourselves into, but Hagrid's a mess. You should give him Caldwel back before Filch has him thrown out — or killed. I don't suppose you remember Buckbeak?"

"Hagrid's called it '_Caldwel'?_"

"_Fred!_"

"Okay, okay!" said Fred. "But it's not like we were going to _keep _him. We were going to get him back to Hagrid's the minute we got him away from Filch. All we wanted was for it rip our files up… and maybe get a chunk out of Filch's trousers."

Hermione glared at him.

"Listen, we had _everything under control_," said Fred stubbornly. "We knew that the first thing Filch would look through when he came back was our drawer, and we wouldn't have let it get too out of hand! We'd be right there to jump in, grab the thing, and _go_."

"I don't care," said Hermione, crossing the room in several angry strides. "We don't have much time, we have to get Caldwel out of there before Filch finds him — oh, get out of the way!" she snapped, and Fred jumped up and began pushing the desks blocking the door aside. "_You're _the one who started all this, so you'd better help me if you and George don't want to be the only students on the Hogwarts Express this time tomorrow. I doubt Mrs. Weasley will be happy to see you turn up at the doorstep eight months too early."

Hermione wrenched the door open — and standing just beyond it was Filch, wheezing and looking exceptionally livid. Mrs. Norris was winding her way around his legs, meowing with what Fred assumed was satisfaction at the justice that was about to be served. This was a scene he knew only to well.

"Afternoon, Mr. Filch," he said, almost lazily.

"_Don't you use that tone with me!_" said Filch nastily, reaching past Hermione and yanking Fred out of the room by the scruff of his neck. "Thought you could escape, eh? You and that horrible twin of yours? Well, you thought wrong this time, didn't you?"

He turned to leer at Hermione and did a double take; he seemed taken aback that he wasn't seeing the other red-haired menace he'd been expecting to see. His oily face broke into a wicked smile.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here — a contaminated _prefect_!" he said. "We'll see about that! You two follow me!" He then let go of Fred's collar and led them away, Mrs. Norris bringing up the rear.

"Thanks," Hermione hissed at Fred through clenched teeth.

She continued to shoot daggers at him as Filch marched them back down numerous corridors and past the statue of the wizened wizard with his staff, and even though Fred would look nowhere else but straight ahead, he could feel her eyes burning into the side of his face.

Once they were in Filch's dingy office again, Filch ordered them to sit down at his desk and soon had the pair of them scheduled for a detention that very night. Their punishment: cleaning up the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom — without magic, as per. Hermione hung her head and accepted her punishment quietly. Fred, on the other hand, was too busy looking over Filch's shoulder to care — besides, what was one more detention? He was trying to see if Caldwel was doing his job in the filing cabinet, because if he was, he was being awfully careful about it. The twins' drawer wasn't showing any signs of movement at all.

"— ought to teach you a lesson," Filch was saying, his lamplike eyes bulging in their sockets. "You rotten little trolls are all lucky that Professor Dumbledore is Headmaster, or I'd have you under lock and key until you forgot what sunlight looks like!"

"Yeah, yeah, can we go now?" said Fred impatiently. The filing cabinet remained unusually still and quiet. Had Caldwel fallen asleep or something?

"_Watch your tongue, boy!_" Filch roared, spraying them both with spit. "Every year, more and more _insolent_, strutting about like you own the place! I don't see _you _trying to scrape eels' eyes out of cauldron bottoms! I don't see _you _trying to clean up after Dungbombs! You can go when I say you can go! And — _what the devil are you looking at?_"

Following Fred's gaze, he limped over to the cabinet and violently heaved the Weasleys' drawer open. Fred's breath caught in his chest, but all Filch did was yell some more for trying to distract him — because there was nothing inside but file upon file of the twins' transgressions. Caldwel was gone; George must have gotten him out while Filch had been pursuing Fred.

_Good old Georgie!_ Fred thought.

As a reward for Fred's cheek, they were held back for what seemed like hours, with Filch letting them out at long last when he had finally shouted himself hoarse. After they stepped out of the room Hermione must have whacked Fred around the head with the map at least a dozen times before she resigned herself to muttered accusations. Today was nothing at all like the previous one, when they'd broken some rules and ended up joking about it afterwards. Now there was only icy silence between them, punctuated only by an occasional frustrated sound from Hermione.

They parted ways in the common room again, but this time Hermione didn't bother saying goodbye. She stalked off with her nose in the air, and a few seconds later slammed her dormitory door closed with such force that Fred felt the ground tremble a little. He trudged up to the boys' dormitory feeling strangely disheartened. He never got like this whenever one of their plans hit a snag; for the twins it was always "try again another day." But something about disappointing Hermione after what she had done for him with Malfoy weighed him down. What a way to thank her.

"Fred!" George exclaimed when Fred entered the dormitory. "I got the crup back to Hagrid's, it's all fine now! Did Filch get you?"

"Hermione found me first," Fred answered glumly, collapsing onto his bed.

"And?"

"What else would you expect? Gave me a good talking to," he said, his voice coming out muffled because of his sheets. "Told me Hagrid was in a right state because he'd lost his pet. Then when we were about to leave Filch was there waiting for us. Gave us detention."

"When?"

"Tonight. DADA room. Cleaning."

George sat at the foot of Fred's bed and patted his back sympathetically.

"It's not as bad as we thought it'd be, anyway. And if you've got Hermione helping, it should be done in no time."

"At least _you_ gave him the slip," Fred said enviously.

"Got lucky," said George. "Peeves had been following me since I met up with you at the office, and he decided to tag along when we escaped. Thought it'd be amusing to put a few pieces of chalk in some tins and rattle them around. I managed to shake him off, and he was making such a racket that it drowned me out that the old git went after him instead. Got to show Peeves our gratitude one of these days. He really has helped us out of a lot of tight spots." He then noticed that Fred wasn't in a particularly talkative mood. "What's up? You've been odd since yesterday. Did anything happen?"

"Nothing," said Fred dejectedly. "I just don't want to sit through a detention with Hermione. My ears'll probably fall off before the night's over. She can be as bad as Mum."

"Cheer up, mate," George said bracingly. "If it helps, I hear Oliver's hunting me down for lying to him. Katie tipped me off. Turns out he really was being serious about the extra personal training and the books; Puddlemere United's been telling him he's got great potential, so even though he hasn't got an actual position yet, he wanted us to help him get into better shape."

"As if."

"And also he _might_ have wanted to get back at us just a little. The only thing stopping him from finding me is the fact that I've gotten Lee to Confund him every time he gets too close to the dormitory. He still owes me for helping him get sorted out after he fell into a great pile of dragon dung in Herbology."

"Where does he sleep, anyway?" Fred asked, suddenly remembering Hermione's question.

"In the bed right next to mine, stupid, where've you been?"

"Not _Lee_. Oliver."

"Oh, right. Well, according to my sources, he's been kipping in the hospital wing — and apparently Madam Pomfrey hasn't been too thrilled to have him. Neither would I if I had that nutter staying over. I think we've talked about it before," said George frowning.

Fred could dimly recall him saying something like that after he came back from that one-on-one training session with Oliver. But then again, he hadn't been very attentive that day due to Hermione clogging up his thoughts. In reply, he merely shrugged.

"Lee can't hold him off forever, though," George sighed. "Might come tonight and shout at me till daybreak. Hey, if we're lucky, you might even get back in time to share the special moment with me."

"You wish. I'd rather clean out all the dungeons with a toothbrush than sit through another Wood speech."

"We'll see who's talking when you've actually done your detention, shall we?"

* * *

Well, I hope you're enjoying the story so far! The detention bit is also one of the things I'm looking forward to uploading, so I hope you stick around for that too. And Hagrid is really fun to write!

Reviews and PMs would be greatly appreciated! Thank you so much for reading the new chapter! ovo


	4. Detention

Hermione didn't stop giving Fred dirty looks at dinner that night, so he kept his head down and pretended to be very interested in his steak-and-kidney pie. She stabbed her roast potato and contemplated it. If it hadn't been for Fred, she would have been able to go over and revise her essays, and maybe even get a bit of reading done before bed.

_But no, he had to go and get me in trouble_, she thought bitterly, stuffing a bit of potato into her mouth. This time she had told Harry and Ron everything (except the parts with Malfoy in them), starting with Fred coming into the library. Ron had laughed his head off at the idea of Fred in the library, but had shut up almost immediately under Hermione's furious stare and instead said he was sorry that she had gotten detention. Harry had been very sympathetic, and told her not to worry because Caldwel had made it back okay. Apparently, just as the three of them entered the Great Hall, Hagrid had waved his arms in their direction and mouthed, "I've got Caldwel back!", beaming. Of course, Hermione had been too preoccupied trying to kill Fred with her eyes that she hadn't noticed.

"At least he's happy," said Hermione wistfully.

"On the bright side, you're not helping anyone answer fan mail," said Harry. Ron sombrely nodded his assent.

"Well, the sooner I finish this detention, the better," said Hermione, putting the rest of her roast potato back onto her plate and setting down her fork. "What time is it, Ron?"

Ron glanced at his watch. "Almost seven."

Hermione pushed back the bench and stood up.

"Might as well get going."

"But aren't you going to wait for Fred?" called Ron as she walked away.

"No," she answered without looking back. "See you later, I suppose."

"You haven't even had dessert yet!"

The torches were blazing bright in the entrance hall, but Hermione shivered as she left the sounds of clattering forks and carefree chatter behind her. She climbed the sweeping marble staircase and rounded a corner, and the delicious smells wafting from within the Great Hall faded away. The castle always was eerily quiet when no one else was around, and there were no windows where she now walked. She wrapped her robes more tightly about herself, her footsteps echoing loudly off the walls. Then she heard someone coming after her; they were rushing up the stairs. She did not turn to see who it was because she already knew.

"I'm not talking to you," she said icily, quickening her pace.

But the torches were suddenly extinguished, and everything became pitch black. Hermione felt her way cautiously forward and found a hulking figure blocking the passage ahead. She stopped in her tracks. Squinting into the darkness, she saw two piggy little eyes glinting at her.

"Who says I want to talk?" said a voice from behind her.

Hermione gave a start — the voice did not belong to Fred.

She whipped her head around just enough to see Malfoy's smug face looming out of the impenetrable blackness, illuminated by the tip of his wand. Crabbe was behind him, which meant that the figure preventing her from moving forward could only be Goyle. They had her completely surrounded.

"You didn't really think you could get away with what you did to me, did you, Granger?" Malfoy asked silkily, his cold grey eyes glinting with malice.

"Go away," said Hermione. She didn't dare turn her back away from Goyle lest he curse her.

"Nice night for a walk, don't you think?" said Malfoy conversationally, as though she hadn't spoken. "Pity, though. The whole thing's kind of spoiled when you run into scum along the way."

A vein pulsed in Hermione's temple. She had sworn not to resort to violence after what had happened last time, so she told herself over and over again to ignore him — but to do such a thing was quite impossible when you were trembling with hatred. She found herself thinking that it would be only too easy to disarm the three of them; she just had to wait for the perfect moment.

"Tell me, Granger," continued Malfoy, his tone still light, "do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be found lying senseless on the floor with a broken nose and blood all over your face? And do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be half-dragged to the hospital wing looking like that?" Crabbe and Goyle both took their wands out of their robes as Malfoy spoke, and still Hermione said nothing.

"Of course, with a face like yours, I imagine you must know how it feels." And then Malfoy said, his snide grin more pronounced than ever, "But I suppose being a Mudblood is humiliating enough as it is."

"You should be lucky it was just your nose," said Hermione, unable to hold back any longer. Her hands were shaking in anger.

"_You_ should be lucky I didn't go telling any teachers," Malfoy snarled. "We wouldn't want to get dirt smeared all over your clean little record."

"The only reason you kept quiet is because you're ashamed to admit I got you," said Hermione defiantly, drawing herself up to her full height. "Your friends won't look up to you so much when they find out you've been had by the same girl twice, will they? And wait until they hear that it was the 'Granger Mudblood.'"

Malfoy flushed again. He gripped his wand tighter, his knuckles turning white. His pointed face was contorted with fury.

"I'll have you tonight," he hissed. "I swear it."

"You really don't want to do this," said Hermione as she took out her own wand. What she lacked in numbers she could make up for with wit; Crabbe and Goyle were thicker than Hagrid's treacle.

"Oh yeah? WATCH ME! _C_ —"

"_EXPELLIARMUS!_"

Malfoy's wand flew out of his hand and was expertly caught by another dark figure that had just come pelting towards them.

"What the —"

The figure then shot a couple of Stunning spells at Crabbe and Goyle, and they dropped to the ground like boulders. Malfoy screamed "_NO!_" and tried to escape, but the figure hit him with a Leg-Locker Curse.

"Glad I'm not too late," panted the figure, flicking his wand and bringing the torches back to life. Fred's shadow stood out sharply on the walls, and his sweaty face and red hair were shining in the flickering firelight. "Saw these three gormless gargoyles follow you out and knew that they were up to no good."

"Oh, look, saved by your _boyfriend_," Malfoy jeered. Hermione was surprised he still had the gall to taunt them when he was hobbling on the spot, unable to move his legs because they were now stuck together. "Felt bad about her saving your arse the last time, did you?"

"Let's just leave him," said Hermione as she watched Malfoy trying to hold himself steady, giving him a look of deepest loathing. "He's not worth it, Fred."

"Sure, go ahead and leave! I knew you two had a thing going on," said Malfoy, with yet another attempt at his old swagger. But Hermione could see that his arrogance was rapidly depleting: his white-blond hair was dishevelled, and the colour had drained from his face. "Thought of any good names for your spawn yet? What about 'Albus,' since obviously you both worship the ground he walks on? He might even toss a few Galleons your way as a token of his thanks."

Hermione and Fred exchanged a look.

"Would you like to do the honours, or shall I?" Hermione asked pleasantly. Malfoy's eyes widened, and he looked desperately around for Crabbe and Goyle before remembering that they had been knocked out. He now seemed to be contemplating hopping away.

Fred rolled up his sleeves.

"It would be my pleasure."

And with much flourishing of his wand, Fred hit Malfoy with one last Stunner, and he overbalanced and keeled over.

"Pathetic, isn't he?" said Fred disdainfully, nudging Malfoy with his foot.

With Hermione's help, he propped Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle up against the wall, where they stood like grotesque statues. Fred admired their handiwork for a few seconds before they left to do their detention, and as they reached the end of the corridor, Hermione heard Goyle sag, knock into Crabbe, and slide back down to the floor.

"They should be all right by the time everyone's finished eating dinner," said Fred indifferently, as if he had done nothing more exciting than throw glitter at them.

"There goes wanting to lie low," said Hermione with a sad sigh.

They went to get their cleaning supplies from a broom cupboard and headed to the classroom, not talking. Filch was there waiting for them, displaying his horrible yellowed teeth in an ugly, triumphant smile and stroking Mrs. Norris' head. Hermione and Fred each agreed to take one half of the room, and Hermione started buffing out the desks on her side with wood polisher while Fred got started on scraping some mould off the stone walls. Filch watched them, happily recalling a favourite old story of his that was so gruesome Hermione had to put all her concentration into applying a second coat of polish to spare herself.

"_Professor Dumbledore_ thinks that you'll see the '_error of your ways_' if you're given enough time to '_reflect on your actions_,'" Filch said as he shuffled about restlessly. Over the last two hours, he'd gradually begun to start talking more to himself than to Fred and Hermione (which wasn't something to complain about), only looking to his cat for reaffirmation of his twisted opinions.

"Rubbish!" he spat. "The only way to get a student in line is to give them a proper punishment, isn't it, my sweet? None of these _doing lines_ or _writing essays_. Oh, you all think you can get away with it because all you'll get for detention is writing on a bloody chalkboard or handing in a grubby piece of parchment! But not in the old days, I tell you, oh no…" He trailed off, another malicious smile playing across his face.

The next moment, however, there came a great crashing noise from the floor above that shook dust and dead spiders from the cobweb-enshrouded chandelier, and Filch gave a mighty howl of rage. Mrs. Norris jumped out of his arms and hissed, her fur standing on end.

"I'M COMING FOR YOU, PEEVES!" Filch roared, and he loped off as fast as his knobbly legs would take him, Mrs. Norris close behind. When his screams of fury had receded around the corner, Fred hurried over to the door and locked it.

"There!" he said. "At least we can carry on without him breathing down our necks and telling us how much he misses tormenting students. I'm telling you, though, that was George. He's never failed me yet."

"I hope he doesn't get caught too," said Hermione worriedly.

"He can take care of himself. But we weren't too shabby either, were we?" Fred went on. Now that Hermione was speaking again, he seemed to think it was safe to finally bring it up. "Much better than yesterday, even. We make a pretty good team."

"I suppose so."

"But I bet you anything you're first in line to be Head Girl," he said, breaking into a grin, "and I wouldn't want to get you out of Dumbedore's good books."

Hermione smiled. Yes, she did want to be Head Girl, but she had also come to accept that it wasn't so bad to bend a few rules every now and then. Harry and Ron had really rubbed off on her.

"You'd make Mum proud. _'That's everyone in the family!'"_ Fred said, quoting his mother and doing an impressive imitation of her voice. "'Course, Ginny's the only one who hasn't been made prefect yet, since George and I never seem to count. And though pains me to admit it, I can already see her with the badge."

"And heaven forbid that Ginny become responsible."

"All I'm saying is, it's lucky she takes after Bill. Otherwise she'd go mad with power, too."

Hermione laughed.

"I'm sure she won't." But there was something else she'd been meaning to tell him. "Fred?"

"Hm?"

"I-I... I wanted to thank you," she said quietly, bowing her head so Fred couldn't see her face. "You know, for earlier."

"S'nothing," he answered, waving his hand dismissively. "You could've Stunned all three of them with your hands tied behind your back."

"It's not just that. I mean, for coming after me. You could have just stayed put and let me handle it, but you didn't."

Fred had now turned his back to her, but Hermione saw him dust the shelves lining the walls with slightly more force.

"I couldn't exactly do that knowing I still owed you a favour," he said. "Especially after… y'know, you stood up for my family and everything. And what, was I supposed to just sit there let them attack you?"

"Well, I guess not."

"It was worth it, anyway. The looks on their faces!" Fred gave a shout of laughter.

They continued cleaning in silence for a few minutes, before Hermione said, very softly, "But you didn't need to feel that you owed me anything at all. I was only doing what I thought was right."

"I thought attacking Malfoy 'wasn't a very nice thing for you to do,'" Fred said severely, and Hermione smiled. "I never got to thank you properly for that, either. It was bloody brilliant."

"Not really." But Hermione was furiously scrubbing away at a bit of graffiti off another desk, feeling rather hot around the collar.

After a few more minutes, Fred said, "D'you think they've been found yet?"

"They should have been." Hermione nodded to the clock on the wall. "It's past nine already."

"Wow, we've been here that long?" Fred paused in the middle of wiping the windows and turned around, looking rather uncomfortable. "Er, sorry for getting you into this, by the way. You can leave if you want. Mum's made us do the cleaning loads of times without magic. I'll manage."

"I appreciate it, Fred, really," said Hermione, surprised at how earnest he was, "but a punishment is a punishment. It wouldn't be right to make you do it alone, and we'd only get into even more trouble."

"Thanks, then."

"Don't mention it. And after all, work is always better with two."

"Not what I heard you telling Harry and Ron when they were sharing ideas for their Divination homework," Fred muttered with a smirk.

"Academics are an entirely different thing," Hermione said curtly.

"Yes, ma'am," said Fred, chortling.

As they worked, Fred amused them both by charming the desks into tap-dancing around the classroom. Hermione had told him off at first, saying that someone would definitely come and check on them once they heard the sound of clattering furniture, but when one of desks bent its front leg in a clumsy bow and invited her to dance with it, she laughed and charmed the chairs to join in. Fred started singing along to a song Hermione didn't recognize, hopping onto the teacher's desk and using a mop as a microphone. She sat in the center of the room and clapped along as she watched the show. When it ended, Fred leaned against the mop and smiled down at her. With a wave of his wand, the desks and chairs scuttled back into place.

"Bravo," said Hermione.

"Thank you, thank you very much!" Fred said as he bowed and leapt off the desk. He helped Hermione up and began mopping the floors.

"That was some really good magic," Hermione commented.

"You think so?"

She nodded. "You're wasting your talent, you know."

"I've never really fancied pursuing a proper career," said Fred. "No, George and I have seen that our duties lie elsewhere, and that is in the bringing of joy to those precious few who, like us, relish in the glory of a good joke and an even better laugh."

"I know," said Hermione. She had known that since she first met them. "But have you ever stopped to think that maybe if you put a little more effort in, the two of you might just have gotten more O.W.L.s than you did?"

"O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, all a load of rubbish," said Fred. "Grades don't really matter to us. What matters is that you learn what you want to learn and do whatever you want with it. None of this exam stuff. No offense, of course," he added with a wink.

"None taken."

"Really?" Fred said with a skeptical smile.

"Yes, really."

And it was true; Hermione didn't find it offensive in the least. As a matter of fact, it sounded exactly like the kind of thing the twins would say. No one who knew them could deny that they were very intelligent, and could easily have topped their year if they wanted to. When their older siblings had passed through the school, they had been hard-working, disciplined students. But the kind of world that awaited Fred and George had they followed in their brothers' footsteps was just not the place they wanted to go. Their parents may not have supported their decisions, but Hermione admired them for their determination. To have gone against the expectations of their teachers and their family so early in life because they knew exactly what they wanted for themselves was a very brave thing to do. Their joke products were actually quite remarkable, and it would have taken two very extraordinary wizards indeed to create such a large line of them at that age.

So Hermione looked at him — _really _looked at him, as if she were seeing him plainly for the first time: Fred Weasley, ringleader of the infamous Weasley twins; Fred Weasley, who just the other day had crammed one of Snape's cauldrons full of Filibuster's Fireworks and rendered the dungeons unusable for a week afterward, because whenever someone lit a fire underneath the cauldron the fireworks would erupt once more; Fred Weasley, whose O.W.L.s (even when combined with George's) were still less than any one of their other brothers' despite the sheer amount of effort and skilful magic he and his brother put into creating Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. And somehow, the longer Hermione looked, the more she agreed with him — that you should learn what you want to learn and do what you want with it. It was their principle. She respected them more than she was willing to admit, so instead, she beamed at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Fred apprehensively, eyeing the pail of water next to her and inching away as though he thought she would suddenly throw it at him for fun.

"You're amazing."

"Come again?"

"You're amazing," Hermione repeated.

Fred gaped at her, looking horror-struck.

"If one of those desks hit you on the head earlier, I'm really sorry, I can take you to the hospital wing right now and have Madam Pomfrey set you right."

"I didn't hit my head," she said, laughing at his expression. "I've just never told either of you that before."

Though he still looked a bit confused, Fred braved a grin.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull, but thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

"Thank you too," answered Hermione, smiling.

* * *

George had been waiting up for Fred all night, so when he traipsed in at about midnight with wood polisher on his sleeves and soap suds on his sweatshirt, George sat up immediately and began bombarding him with questions. Lee Jordan was by then already fast asleep, his leg dangling off his bed.

"I convinced Peeves to loosen the screws on all the doors right above your floor," George said eagerly. "And I made it so that they'd all fall down at the same time. Did Filch take the bait?"

"Indeed, brother of mine. Couldn't have done it better myself," said Fred, pulling off his scarf and throwing it over the back of a chair. "But you know, you'd think that after all the detentions we've ever served for Filch, he'd have run out of stories. I've never been more wrong. You won't _believe _what kind of torture-tale I've had to endure this time. I swear, he and Snape love punishment so much they should get married."

"At least you didn't have to suffer any longer than you did," said George.

"He came back eventually," said Fred. "And he wasn't in a good mood, especially since I'd locked him out. He tried using a key, but there were so many of them that I think he gave up halfway and tried knocking it down with his foot instead — wound up spraining his ankle, too."

"And Hermione _let_ you do that?"

"No. She was the one who opened the door for him. And wouldn't you know it, he threw us out quite unceremoniously after that, yelling at us to get out of his sight before he extended our sentence."

"All good things must come to an end." George reached into his bedside cabinet and pulled out a half-empty box of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans. Offering some to Fred, he snickered. "And how's the ear?"

Fred tugged at his ear, verified the fact that it was still very much attached to the side of his head, and said, "It appears that my anatomy is still in order."

"Did Hermione try telling you exactly how many rules you broke and on which pages, sections, and paragraphs of the hitherto unread and crumbling Hogwarts Handbook they can be found? Or did she tone it down by instead lecturing you on every single thing mentioned in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_?"

"Neither, actually," said Fred. "She wasn't as bad as we thought she'd be." He popped a black bean into his mouth, hoping it would be licorice, and pulled a face; he'd gotten ink. "Anyway, enough about me. What's the news on Oliver?"

"None whatsoever," George said happily, raising the sweets box like a wine glass. "I'm pretty sure this is one of my greatest feats yet. Managing to evade his wrath for so long's got to be some sort of record, and that's saying something. He's been exercising his wrathfulness on us since we joined the team."

George then stopped speaking and quietly scrutinized his twin. After a minute or two of watching Fred try to get a stubborn bit of mould out from under one of his fingernails, he seemed to have made his mind up about something. Suppressing a smirk, he reached into the box and rummaged around for another bean.

"You know, Freddie," he said casually, as if he were picking up the threads of a different conversation they'd been having earlier, "I won't think any less of you for it."

Fred frowned, pausing in the act of unbuttoning his shirt.

"You won't think any less of me for what?"

"If you're starting to take a liking to Gryffindor's resident know-it-all, I'll understand completely. All you have to do is come clean about it." George grinned. "I'll think you're a humongous prat, of course, and I can't promise that I won't spend the rest of our natural lives making fun of you, but I respect your choices."

Fred rolled his eyes, now pulling on his pajamas.

"Just go to sleep," he said, flinging a sock into George's face.

"Tosser," said George as he pulled off the sock.

Fred climbed into his four-poster bed and drew the hangings closed.

"Sleep tight. Don't let the Oliver Woods bite."

"I sure hope I can," George chortled. "There'll be a lot of questions in the morning, and I'm not sure the world is ready for our love just yet."

"'Night, then."

Fred heard the springs beneath George's mattress creak as George extinguished his lamp, and he rolled onto his side, thinking. The detention hadn't at all gone the way he'd thought it would. Well, he'd certainly been expecting Malfoy to get back at them for the other day, but he'd never imagined that he'd lay his life bare before anyone, much less Hermione Granger. As a matter of fact, during dinner his only worry had been the idea of spending an unpleasant evening listening to Hermione tell him off for all his horrible life decisions, and the very last thing he'd expected from her was praise. _"You're amazing,"_ she'd said. But why, he asked himself?

He lay on his back and frowned into the darkness. Why had she said that even after he'd told her that grades didn't matter? Surely that had been the very worst kind of blasphemy. Why had she said that even after he had gotten her a detention? What had he done to make her say it? Try as he might, Fred couldn't figure it out, no matter how many times he turned it over in his head.

He stayed awake long into the night, so that he was still up when Oliver Wood busted in and shouted them all out of their beds. Of course, his anger had been building up for days by then. George nodded off against the wall, groggily mumbling "sod off," as Oliver went on and on about what George's antics had cost him and, to some extent, Puddlemere United, still painfully oblivious to the fact that no one ever listened to him. It was dawn by the time Oliver seemed to think that he'd said everything he needed to say, and even as he closed the dormitory door and Lee slid onto the floor with his limbs splayed about him at odd angles, snoring loudly, Fred still hadn't closed his eyes.

He saw Hermione on Monday morning in the entrance hall, but all she had time for was a smile before rushing off with her classmates to History of Magic, Harry and Ron in tow. Fred had been spending so much time with her lately that he'd forgotten they never actually talked to each other.

He watched her retreating back for a moment before George reminded him that they had to eat at top speed if they wanted to make it to class on time. It was a shame, really, Fred thought as he looked over his shoulder one last time.

He would have liked to talk to Hermione again.

* * *

So it seems that I update the story every Monday and Thursday. At least now you know when to expect the next chapter! ovo Now that the detention is over, are you wondering what's going to happen next?

Reviews and PMs would be greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	5. Rumours at Breakfast

EDIT: Added a few bits that I'd forgotten to put in again. ovo I hope you like this chapter!

* * *

And the days dragged on, with the rare sunny days slowly fading into dim skies and heavy clouds. It had been a very uneventful month, even by Hogwarts standards — save perhaps the day that Professor Trelawney's innumerable shawls had burst into flames when Seamus Finnigan knocked over the incense she was burning by accident. However, it was to be noted that Ravenclaw bulldozed Hufflepuff in the second match of the year, which meant that if Ravenclaw won against Slytherin in the next one as well, they were the only thing standing between the Gryffindor team and the Quidditch Cup. The result of this was that the Gryffindor team began a more rigorous training program in the last few weeks of November — but only because they had to make the best of the limited time they had with Oliver Wood, whose dynamism and vivacity remained unrivalled (and which also had not been terribly missed by any of his former teammates). Even though he could do nothing more than oversee their sessions and offer them his invigorating (or so he seemed to believe) pre-practice pep talks on the word of the Headmaster, they worked hard under his supervision. They trained into the night and came back to the Tower after most people had gone to sleep, stiff and sore and with various aching body parts. Harry came out of it the worst one night, returning with a broken nose and puffy lips after Alicia Spinnet hit him full in the face with the Quaffle.

But these frequent training sessions gave Fred and Hermione very few chances to speak at all, so they generally only saw each other in the common room, where she could often still be seen working in the late hours of the evening. They would give each other a small wave or nod before Fred limped up to the boys' dormitories to get some rest. But to Hermione, it almost felt as though they had gone back to the time when neither of them hardly acknowledged the other.

To keep from dwelling on it too much, Hermione busied herself with resuming her studies for the O.W.L.s. She couldn't understand why, but her resolve to do her best became stronger than ever, and her astounding progress led the teachers to begin appraising her with a mixture of alarm and admiration. Professor McGonagall came up to her one day after class to say in a crisp voice that she had a very bright future ahead of her. Hermione had gotten full marks in all the essays she'd handed in, and had gotten into the habit of continually earning points for Gryffindor. This was also her way of apologizing for attacking Malfoy twice and not getting into trouble for it. At least they made up for the ones George had lost when he'd dripped mud all over the entrance hall floor from practice.

This depressing routine went on until November passed into December, and without meaning to, she and Fred fell out of touch.

The sky in the Great Hall was a dull, wintery grey when Hermione came in quite late one morning for breakfast, just in time to see the owls swoop in to deliver the morning post in a flurry of wings. A few of them seemed quite surprised that their owners weren't at their tables (it was very cold and drafty that day because a pane had come loose in one of the windows, so people had just stuffed food into their pockets and hurried away to find somewhere warm to eat), and a large tawny with a small scroll tied to its leg perched on the top of a Slytherin boy's head, ruffling its feathers indignantly.

Term had just ended for the Christmas holidays, and as usual, most of the students had booked seats on the Hogwarts Express to spend time with their families. But as there were rumours that this year Dumbledore had prepared a play with the staff as the lead roles (credible rumours, as it had been excited little Professor Flitwick spreading them), a considerable number had decided that it was worth the risk to stay behind. It had been weeks now since Hermione and Fred had last had a proper conversation. She wondered why she kept thinking about that.

As she approached the nearly empty table, Ginny waved at her. She was sitting with Neville Longbottom, who had several scarves wrapped around his pink face and was having a hard time holding his knife and fork because his of his thick gloves.

"Good morning," Hermione said as she took a seat next to Lavender Brown. Lavender was by herself, and this was most unusual; Lavender was almost never without her best friend, Parvati Patil.

"Hello," said Lavender brightly. An owl bearing that morning's edition of the_ Daily Prophet_ landed by Hermione's plate.

"Where's Parvati?" Hermione asked. She removed the paper from the owl's leg, rummaged in her pocket for change, paid the owl, and buttered herself a piece of toast. "She wasn't at the dormitory when I left."

"She's with her sister. It's their mother's birthday and they're busy sending their present home." But Lavender said this quickly, almost as if there were something more important she wanted to discuss. This became evident when she leaned in, glanced furtively around, and giggled. She beamed at Hermione.

"Well — it's really _me _who should be asking _you_ the questions!" she gushed.

"Why?" said Hermione, the toast halfway to her mouth.

"Come on, you _know _what I'm talking about!"

"Er, no?"

But Lavender wasn't listening; she was positively glowing with excitement.

"What did he say? Oooh, I'm so jealous! I bet it was romantic! I mean, he's _very _good looking, of course," she said confidentially, "but he _is_ two years older than us, so it's a bit of a surprise that he would notice someone younger, you know? I always thought he fancied Angelina — you remember, they went to the Yule Ball together — but I guess I was wrong since he —"

"No, Lavender, I'm serious," Hermione said impatiently. "Who are you talking about?"

Lavender looked rather surprised.

"Well — I thought you'd have run into him by now."

"Run into _whom_?"

"Fred's been looking for you all morning with George. He says he's got something to tell you."

"He does?" Hermione's toast now lay forgotten. "Did he say what?"

"Of course not!" said Lavender maddeningly, as if this should have been the plainest thing in the world. "I mean, it's obviously _really_ important that he tell you himself, isn't it?" The whole time she'd been talking, her eyebrows kept shooting up and up into her bangs. "_Isn't it_?"

Hermione realized what she was hinting at, and she laughed so loudly that Ernie Macmillian from the Hufflepuff table jumped and spilled coffee into Justin Finch-Fletchley's porridge.

"Oh, you can't possibly mean he wants to say something like _that_!" she said shrilly. The very thought was preposterous!

"There's no use denying it."

"No use de — _what is there to deny?_"

"Ask anybody here, they know what happened," said Lavender in a tone that suggested this settled the matter.

Hermione stared down the table at Ginny, caught her attention, and motioned for her to come closer. Excusing herself, Ginny left Neville and went up to Hermione, looking perplexed.

"Hi," Ginny said uncertainly.

"What do you know about this?" demanded Hermione.

Ginny stared for a moment.

"Oh — you mean about Fred and George? Well, they're looking for you," she said, shrugging. "That's about it. They didn't really say why."

"You can't fool me either, Ginny," said Lavender. "I know that you're just helping them cover it up."

"Cover up what?" said Ginny blankly. "Neville's asked me loads of times, but I really don't have a clue what he wants."

"See?" Hermione insisted. "There really, really _is_ nothing going on between us."

"You know, everyone's _going_ to find out eventually anyway, so you could at _least _tell me the truth!" Lavender pouted, sounding hurt. "We've been classmates for so long, and we even share the same dormitory! I thought we were _friends_."

Hermione was beginning to get angry now. If giving people the wrong impression by going around telling everyone who would listen that he was looking for Hermione Granger was Fred Weasley's idea of a joke, then he would be very sorry indeed when she finally caught up with him.

She was about to say something else to Lavender, but Ginny gave her an understanding look and shook her head ever so slightly. Hermione gritted her teeth and stayed quiet.

"If you want to prove me wrong," said Lavender with an air of annoying superiority, "why don't you go after him and see for yourself?"

"Fine," Hermione snapped. "I think I will. Where is he?"

"I told him that you were still asleep when I saw him last."

And with that, Hermione shot Lavender a final, withering look, snatched up her unread paper, said goodbye to Ginny, and stormed off, ignoring Lavender's calls to tell her every last detail of the encounter. By the time Hermione got to Gryffindor Tower (the password was "_floptrout_"), six different people had pestered her about Fred (including Pansy Parkinson, who offered comments that made Hermione want to punch a wall), and she'd given them six different answers that basically meant "ask me again and the next time you'll wake up is in the middle of the Forbidden Forest." It was an understatement to say that she was not in the best of moods when Harry, who was eating pumpkin pasties by the fire with Ron, told her that Fred and George had just left.

"One of these days," Hermione grumbled, plopping down onto the floor beside them. Her hand was clenched tightly around her rolled-up paper. "_One of these days_ I will get you, Fred Weasley."

She was at least thankful that they were the only ones in the room, because there were a number of unpleasant things she wanted to say about Fred Weasley — none of which could be considered polite to say aloud if anyone else were around. Whatever Hermione had said to Fred the night of their detention, at the moment she certainly couldn't see how she could have believed any of it.

"Why've you got it in for him so much?" said Ron, licking his fingers.

"Fred's been bothering you a lot since that detention," said Harry.

"What? We don't talk."

"I just noticed that you find him more annoying than usual," Harry answered. "Why won't you tell us what happened?"

"Yeah, Hermione, just get on with it," said Ron. "It's not like you've secretly been seeing him or anything."

Ron was just saying that he'd marry a gnome if that ever happened when he seemed to realize the gravity of what he had just suggested, because he broke of midsentence. His mouth still wide open, he whipped his head around to stare at her and gulped.

"Er — you _aren't _secretly seeing Fred, are you, Hermione?"

Before Hermione could retort, however, for what felt like the millionth time that they _weren't_, Ron started talking again, a kind of fear in his eyes.

"I mean, you know, if George is all right with it, I reckon it should be fine." He squirmed slightly, and Harry seemed to be struggling not to laugh. "Anyway, it's not really my business who you, er, want to go out with — it isn't anyone's business who you want to go out with, mind — and you're one of my best friends, and I want you to be happy and everything, but, er, as it's my brother we're talking about here, you can probably see why it's kind of —"

"Oh, you sound just like Lavender," Hermione snapped.

"Listen, as long as you two don't start snogging each other in public —"

Hermione slapped his arm hard.

"_No_, Ron, I am _not_ seeing Fred!"

Ron visibly relaxed, but his ears were still very red. He cleared his throat awkwardly and turned back to the fireplace.

"O-oh. That's okay, then."

"Why are you looking for him, though?" asked Harry.

"Apparently he's been asking everyone where I am because he wants to tell me something," said Hermione irritably. "Ginny doesn't know why, either."

"Just leave him alone," said Harry.

"Y-yeah. Probably trying to get under your skin," said Ron in an offhand sort of voice. But he was now glancing at Hermione every few seconds as though afraid that she would suddenly go raving about how madly in love she was with his brother at any moment.

"That's what I thought too, at first. But it's been weeks since the detention and he doesn't really have much reason to single me out this time…."

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing. Pasty?"

"Oh, yes, please," said Hermione gratefully, remembering that she hadn't even gotten the chance to eat her toast.

About five minutes later, when Ron's discomfort at the previous subject had subsided and the last of the pasties had been finished, he said, "So… d'you reckon Dumbledore really _is _having a play this Christmas? I heard they've only ever had one, and that was when they still had that other Herbology teacher around. He and the old Care of Magical Creatures professor didn't come out of it too well, either. Er, the one who lost most of his limbs so he had to retire…. What's his name, Cupburn?"

"Kettleburn," Hermione corrected, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, him," said Ron, who just seemed relieved that Hermione wasn't about to slap him again. "He set the whole thing on fire or something so they had to stop for good. I didn't think it would be so dangerous to host a play."

"Maybe an unnatural love for danger runs in the Care of Magical Creatures profession," said Harry seriously. "We really need to ask someone to watch Hagrid."

"Still, though, it ought to be pretty interesting, don't you think?"

"Well, we'll see," said Harry, crumpling up a pasty wrapper. "I'm not sure if I want to see Snape wearing tights, anyway."

Ron gave a hearty guffaw, and soon they were all having so much fun imagining Snape pirouetting stupidly across a stage and speaking in limericks that all thoughts of Fred Weasley were driven out of their minds.

* * *

Fred and George couldn't remember the last time they'd hatched a scheme with such a low estimated success rate. Though Fred insisted that they would be all right, even he had to admit that it wouldn't go without a hitch. They'd been carefully planning this since Fred's detention with Hermione, because it had taken Fred those few hours he'd spent with her to realize that she wasn't such a stickler for rules as he'd originally thought — and if she still was, her obsession with going by the book had at least been significantly lessened. Maybe Harry and Ron had had the right sort of influence on her, after all. Of course, Harry and Ron could hardly expect to save the wizarding world every few months without stepping across a few lines, and they'd be completely lost without Hermione.

In spite of her general disapproval of the twins' experiments, Fred thought that Hermione had seemed genuinely interested in listening to what he had had to say during their detention (unless he was much mistaken), and she also hadn't tried to stop him and George from keeping it going. In truth, getting her to help them develop new products for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been a long-standing plan of theirs. Her vast knowledge of spells included ones that even older students wouldn't dare to attempt, and it was easy to see why she would be an asset. But Fred and George both knew that persuading her to actually take part in their plans was going to be difficult — _very _difficult, since she had been the one who'd outlawed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to begin with. They had to be very convincing indeed if they wanted to get her to say yes to an offer from _them_.

Now, on a ledge by a stained glass window on the second floor, they sat with their heads close together, an innocent-looking briefcase between them.

"…_could_ be a sign," George was saying. "Maybe we should call it off."

"Considering an apprenticeship with that dingbat Trelawney, are you?" said Fred, smirking.

"Look, you know how Hermione can be," said George reasonably. "I just don't feel like ending up at the bottom of the lake, that's all."

"But this is for a good cause," said Fred eagerly, patting the briefcase. "She won't have any reason to report us for it."

"Jinx us is more like it," said George, shaking his head.

"Even she's not that brutal. This time it won't hurt anyone, and it'll be great! McGonagall _might _give us the honour of detention from Boxing Day till the end of school year, but Dumbledore's fantastic, he won't mind. If anything, he'll be thrilled about the free show. And picture the look on Filch's face when he sees Dumbledore give us a pat on the back!"

"Yeah, but Hermione's not Dumbledore; she's the last person we'll ever be able to fool. And remember, we're trying to make the person who banned this stuff in the first place let us _sell_ them."

"A little faith, Georgie," said Fred confidently. "If we could get Mum to believe that we weren't the ones who'd humiliated poor Percy in front of Penelope when she came calling by putting a Permanent Sticking Charm on his 'Bighead Boy' badge so that it won't ever come off his bedroom door, then we can get Hermione to do us this little favour."

"You call this 'little?' Try 'colossal.'"

"Well, yeah, so it's a bit of a stretch, but we've spent too much time planning this to give it up now."

"I'll say. But what I really want to know is why we haven't tracked her down yet." George glanced down the corridor as if he expected her to turn up as he spoke. "There are only so many places to go without breaking any school rules.

"She's most likely been sleeping this whole time. And you know we can't get up to the girls' dormitories."

They had already ruled out an ambush in the common room; Hermione's reflexes would send them straight to the hospital wing if not directly to St. Mungo's on a broomstick.

"She might've gone to the library, for all we know. It might be a bizarre morning ritual for her or something, going to the library and picking up another stupid book. If only we hadn't given Harry the map…," said George.

"Maybe we can nick it and give it back later," suggested Fred.

"Nah, Harry was in the common room when we left, remember? He'll know it was us."

"Worth a try… Reckon we should go back to the Great Hall?" asked Fred. The sun was shining brightly on the grounds outside the window; it must have been about ten o' clock. "She might've gone down to breakfast already."

"I s'pose," said George, swinging his legs off the ledge. "Why are you so determined to get Hermione in on this, anyway?" he added as Fred followed suit.

"What, you don't want to finally get this done?"

"Of course I do. But even though we've talked about doing this before, I didn't think you would actually take it seriously. You know we can work things out ourselves. Well, even if it _will_ take a bit longer than usual this time."

"Face it, we need extra help," said Fred. "We've been at this thing for months and we haven't improved it much."

"You sure this still has nothing to do with you fancying her?" George teased.

"Shut it," said Fred evenly. But the back of his neck had gone pink.

George shrugged and did not attempt to argue further.

"Hey, I was only asking. So what do we do now?"

"Let's just split up and make things quicker," said Fred. "I'll take our stuff."

George nodded. "And if one of us finds her?"

"Take her halfway up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. We're bound to be seen if we're at the top, we're not allowed up there. But the stairs aren't off-limits, and there won't be any chances of being overheard."

"Right. Good luck," said George as he turned to his right and Fred turned to his left.

"You too."

* * *

"How much d'you think it would cost to buy the whole of Honeydukes?" asked Harry. He was lying upside-down on a sofa, his legs draped over the back and his head hanging over the seat, making deformed bubbles blossom out of the end of his wand.

Ron furrowed his brow and thought hard, hunched over a seven-storey house of Chocolate Frog cards and trying to put Merlin and Morgana at the top. Merlin seemed to be encouraging him, but Morgana looked rather displeased.

"I dunno… About… three thousand Galleons, give or take?"

"And how long do you think it would take to eat through everything?"

"Think you'd need more than a month?"

Hermione looked up incredulously from her crinkled paper (she had crushed it too hard win her hand), which now lay unfurled on the table before her. Crookshanks, whom she had brought down from upstairs, was curled up in a soft ginger ball on her lap.

"A _month_?" she said. "It would take me _years_! Of course, Mum and Dad wouldn't be too keen for me to eat that many sweets at all."

"Are you joking? All of Honeydukes' sweets? I wouldn't give it up for anything! I wonder how long the levitating sherbet balls will last —"

"As you know, my parents are dentists," said Hermione stiffly.

"The Dursleys never let me have candy," said Harry. "I'd take it all."

Just as Hermione was about to argue that eating several years' worth of sweets in only a month was going to be terrible for their teeth and their health, George Weasley crashed in yelling Hermione's name. Startled, Harry slipped off the couch, and Ron yelped, knocking over his house of cards before he could put Merlin and Morgana in the right position.

They all stared at one another, Harry's and Ron's eyes darting bewilderedly from George to Hermione as oddly-shaped bubbles floated about them. Then George seized Hermione's arm, startling Crookshanks awake. Crookshanks leapt off Hermione's lap, hissing, and landed on the moving black-and-white photograph of Cornelius Fudge in the _Prophet_. George hauled Hermione through the Fat Lady's portrait without any explanation, shouting "We'll only be a minute!" over his shoulder to her dumbstruck friends as they went.

* * *

All shall be explained in the next chapter! And don't worry, I'll be putting that one up a lot sooner. You can expect it by Saturday. uvu Thank you so much for all your wonderful messages, and I hope you continue to leave me reviews! I really appreciate them! I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and see you in the next update!


	6. Unexpected Proposition

As they clambered out of the portrait hole, the Fat Lady raised her eyebrows at them — which wasn't a surprise, given that Hermione was trying to poke George away with the quill she had been holding when he'd dragged her away.

"_Un — hand — me — right — _now —_ George — Weasley!_"

"Ouch, ouch!" said George, flapping his free hand about to protect his face. "Gerroff, woman, we won't be long!"

"No rough housing!" called the Fat Lady reproachfully as they wrestled their way down the corridor.

"Oh, relax, will you, it wasn't like you were busy!"

"_I was!_"

"You'll be back before you know it!"

"Then where in the—!"

"All right, all right, we're going to the Astronomy Tower! Will you shut up now?"

"_No!_"

"Well, keep your hair on until we get there!"

When they were halfway up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower as Fred had instructed, George released Hermione and asked her to take a seat on the steps, earning himself a few more jabs in the arm for his trouble. He edged away from her and leaned against the wall out of her reach, rolling up his sleeve to inspect the damage.

"This is the part where we _act civilized_," he said firmly, looking at the shallow marks and scratches that the quill had made on his skin, "and wait."

"You still have a _lot _of explaining to do, George," said Hermione fiercely. "You should be grateful I don't have my wand on me, because I would curse you into oblivion."

"I know, I know," said George. But as long as Hermione was wandless, she couldn't do anything more harmful than threaten to stick the pointy end of her quill up his nose — and a simple threat, he rightly knew, was a lot better than having her glue his tongue to the roof of his mouth for the rest of the week. "But just be patient until Fred gets here. This was a team effort and there's no use starting without him."

"Is this why Fred's been looking for me all morning? To hold me _hostage_? He's been driving me up the wall! What could be so important that he had to see me immediately?"

"We'll get to that in a bit," said George. "But alas — I notice you're rather flustered, Hermione! Surely you can't be harbouring secret feelings for my dear twin?"

"Don't flatter yourselves," she said coldly.

"Sorry," George said, grinning. "Can't help it."

"Whatever this is about, you and Fred have been going about it the worst way. I don't even want to think about how many people have gotten the wrong idea!"

"What do you mean?" said George innocently.

"You know full well what I mean!"

"I most certainly do not!" said George, pretending to look highly affronted. "Whatever you're trying to accuse as of this time, I assure you that we have done nothing of the sort."

"That hasn't stopped Lavender Brown from thinking that Fred is going to — to tell me he —" Hermione broke off and looked away, blushing. Her voice became nothing more than a mumble as she said, "Well, it doesn't really matter… It's just silly, of course, absolutely ludicrous…"

They suddenly heard the sound of someone dashing up the spiral staircase, and George straightened up.

"George, I couldn't find her at Hagrid's or the Great Hall, have you tried —" Fred came into view and stopped dead when he saw them. An evil smile spread across his face and he took the last few steps separating them one at a time, very slowly. "_Excellent._"

"Great. Now that you're both here, just say what you have to say and be done with it," Hermione said, regaining her snappish attitude.

Fred and George crossed their arms, wearing identical smirks.

"Right, then, madam," said Fred, "we won't keep you! We'll get down to business straightaway."

George cleared his throat importantly.

"Miss Hermione Jean Granger, fifth year and prefect at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, of the noble House of Godric Gryffindor, we have brought you here today to discuss with you matters of great importance."

"Of the utmost importance," added Fred.

"Oh, I'm sure it is," said Hermione sardonically.

"Would you or would you _not _be interested in investing time and skill into making this year's the best Christmas your fellow students have ever had?" said George.

"It's really not my concern whether —"

"And would you or would you _not _be interested in helping your two good friends and upperclassmen in the debut of their unique line of joke products, which, as you have stated in the past, holds great potential?" said Fred, as if she had not interrupted.

"I don't want to hear your sales pitch, Fred, now let me —"

"We are here," said George, raising his voice slightly, "to propose this: What better way to support these two friends by aiding them in the official establishment of their brand as a household name?"

"Just think about how hard we've slaved over all those trick sweets and fake wands," lamented Fred. "All those nights we sacrificed trying to perfect them…"

George too put on a look of deepest sorrow.

"What a shame it would be to see all that work and _amazing _magic go to waste…"

Instead of making another attempt to tell them how much she really didn't want to be there, Hermione's mouth instead reduced itself to a thin line uncannily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.

"What do you need _my _help for?" she said. "You've been doing perfectly well on your own."

"Madam is being diplomatic today by not cursing us with rat tails," remarked Fred, his upbeat demeanour returning at once.

"I don't have my wand," said Hermione, still wishing very much that she did.

George may have sensed that she was orchestrating her escape by taking out her quill again and attacking every bit of his and Fred's skin she could reach, because he stood between her and his brother (still a good distance away) and held out his palms as a sign of peace.

"Take it easy now, you two," he said, his tone pacifying. "What it all boils down to is that we — that is to say, my partner and I — have very nearly finished developing the last of our very own fireworks, but we're afraid that it lacks a certain… element."

"A certain element," continued Fred, poking his head out from underneath George's outstretched arm,_ "_that we are, unfortunately, too inexperienced to bestow upon it."

"So what you're saying is that you need _me _to finish it for you?" said Hermione, eyes wide with incredulity. She wasn't even the least bit inclined to say yes. They expect her to go along with their little plans after _kidnapping _her? She didn't think so.

"Ah, we don't need you to simply _finish_ it," said Fred, now getting down on one knee as George stood aside. "Miss Granger, we need your help to set off Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with the greatest bang this school has ever seen."

"With your expertise, we'll be headline news every day until after we leave!" exclaimed George, his eyes shining. "And we will be ever in your debt. We'll even keep our heads down and our noses clean. We'll be very well-behaved and guarantee you no less than five detentions between us for the rest of our stay at Hogwarts." He put his hands together and looked up to the heavens, the picture of a saint. Then he glanced back down at her and said, "That is, as long as you allow us to sell our products."

"Imagine how awestruck the rest of the school will be at _your _magic," said Fred, taking Hermione by the shoulder. "Imagine the _cheers_, the _screams of joy and delight_!"

"And imagine the look on Flitwick's face when he sees the show! Imagine how he'll praise the fireworks' expert maker and clap as he watches the sparks fly!"

It took a lot of self-control to stop herself from smiling as she pictured the scene in her head, but Hermione fixed her features into a stern glare and refused to say anything more. For the next quarter of an hour the twins tried every other tactic they could think of, but she wasn't budging. After they had completely exhausted their supply of flattery and sweet talk, they slumped against the wall, looking at her in amazement.

"You aren't distantly related to Mum, are you?" asked George wearily. "The resemblance is sort of spooky."

"It looks like you're going to have to work this out on your own," Hermione replied with a faint note of triumph. She got to her feet. "This has been quite an enlightening experience, but if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to attend to."

Fred grabbed her arm before she could move.

"Look, I didn't think we'd have to resort to this, but I don't think we have much of a choice." His gaze flickered to George, who nodded imperceptibly, before he turned back to Hermione, and he shut his eyes as if he were honestly dreading what he was about to say. "_Please_?"

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"'_Please?_'" she sputtered, on the verge of laughing. "You think I'm going to agree just because you say '_please?_'"

"In case you haven't noticed," George said without the slightest trace of a smile, "we're not exactly the begging type. But desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Look, Hermione, it's now or never," said Fred. "We're not kidding. If we can't start it properly this year, that'll be it. It won't be the same if we try again after school."

Hermione, startled by his sincerity, pulled her arm away and slowly sat back down, staring at the two of them. Fred and George were in their seventh and final year at Hogwarts, which meant that their time was almost up; in a few short months, their stay at the school would be over. She hadn't known that they'd made plans to market Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before leaving. Harry had let slip once before that the twins were planning on setting up a joke shop (something she had always suspected them of anyway), but she never thought that they would try to get a head start while they were still at school.

Fred and George stared back at her so gravely that Hermione's doubt began to recede.

"So… this isn't all a trick? You aren't just trying to get me into trouble?" she said cautiously. "You — you really do want me to help you?"

As it had taken them all in all about thirty minutes to convince her of this, it seemed take George an enormous amount of effort to stop himself from rolling his eyes. But it was a mark of how much they needed her that he somehow managed it.

"That was the gist of it, yes," he said, as calmly as he could.

Hermione bit her lip.

"Well… Oh, fine, I'll give it a look. But _only_," she added dangerously when their faces brightened, "a look."

"That's good enough for me!" said Fred.

He bent over to pick up a brown leather briefcase at his feet — the words "Weasley & Weasley" were emblazoned on the front. He opened it before her: Sitting inside was the firework, which, to Hermione's great surprise, was much smaller than she'd imagined it would be; it was only about six inches long. She had expected it to look flashy, but it was quite plain and had no distinguishing features whatsoever. However, it was such a violent shade of orange that staring at it for too long hurt her eyes a little. Fred took it and gave it to her; it was heavier than it looked, too.

Turning it over in her hands, she saw that it wasn't unmarked after all — there was a tiny inscription around the edge of it: _"To us, and the many wizard wheezes to come."_ Their grand debut.

Fred and George were eyeing her hopefully, and she continued to look down at the firework, at those small golden words. Even after everything she had just said, Hermione knew that they hadn't thrown away their education for nothing — they'd worked just as hard on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes as she had on perfecting all her exams. The looks on their faces were proof enough.

After a long pause in which the twins stared at her with bated breath, she finally gave them a small smile in spite of herself.

"All right, I'll give it a go. What do you want me to do?"

* * *

When they had concluded their impromptu conference, George (who for some reason seemed quite keen to be first to go) went ahead to check if anyone was lurking about while Fred lingered with Hermione so he could pack up. He was at present rolling up the long piece of parchment that they had made her sign (every bit of which she'd read meticulously). It contained the usual stuff you'd find in a contract, such as liabilities, disclaimers, and consequent profit division (with the latter being the only thing that she had vehemently declined to sign to, saying that she didn't want any part of their earnings as she was not a business partner; nothing they had said would change her thoughts on the matter, and they'd felt that pressing the subject further would only make her go for the quill again).

"No one's ever going to have another Christmas like this," Fred said, stowing the parchment carefully away. "And we owe it all to you. I swear, Hermione, why people make fun of you for your brains is beyond me."

"It's not that hard to imagine why, really." But Hermione laughed anyway.

"We really appreciate this. You know that, right?"

"It's crossed my mind."

"I'm serious, though. It's really important to us, finally getting this show on the road after waiting so long. You know, what with Mum disapproving of all this," said Fred, gesturing at the briefcase, "and Dad just letting her get on with it… Perce won't let us get a moment's peace, either, what with his 'very important and hard-earned job at the Ministry' and all that. He just doesn't want us ruining his image. If he wasn't so obsessed with becoming Minister of Magic I wouldn't have put it past him to get a teaching post here at Hogwarts, just so he could stay and keep an eye on me and George till this school finally saw the back of us." He chortled. "But we don't really mind if they don't like what we do, so long as they let us do it."

Then he frowned. "Well, okay, to be fair, Mum isn't _really_ letting us do anything; if you remember, she's tried burning our papers and chucking our Ton-Tongue Toffee…."

He seemed to become lost in thought. It hadn't occurred to Hermione that Mrs. Weasley might have done much more than burn their order forms and throw away their toffees. Though she knew that their mother only wanted what was best for them and loved them unconditionally, it must have been difficult having to live with a parent who thought you were only worth a few exploding toilets and a corridor full of Stink Pellets. It didn't exactly make Hermione feel better to know that she had been the one to ban them from sharing the brilliance of their inventions, either. She felt the colour rising in his face, and she averted her gaze in shame.

But in the next instant Fred broke into a broad grin.

"It doesn't matter, though," he said. "We've improved them."

"You two never fail to amaze me," said Hermione with a little smile, glad to see that he had recovered.

"Success is the only way to go, after all. You know, it's been a wrench trying to keep all our hard work hushed up," said Fred sadly. "We've been ready for months, but _someone_ stopped us from starting sooner."

Hermione turned pink again.

"I-I was doing it for you!"

"Don't get so worked up, I was only messing with you," said Fred, laughing now.

"Well, _I_ didn't think it was very funny," said Hermione heatedly, instantly regretting having felt sorry for him at all. "I just don't want you getting into any more trouble. I don't want to see your mother punish you, either."

"You sure seem to enjoy telling on people, though."

"I d —"

But Fred laughed again, cutting her off.

"Hermione, _calm down_," he said. "I'm joking, all right?"

He sighed again, and Hermione's temper drained slowly away.

"I'm really sorry, though," she said. "I didn't know this meant so much to you."

"Don't worry about it. But I do wish Mum doesn't try to bite our heads off for this stunt," said Fred. "We've never tried doing anything so large-scale before."

"I highly doubt that."

"Well… all right, we've done worse."

"I'm sure Mrs. Weasley will be proud of you when she sees how far you've come," said Hermione reassuringly. "She'll come around, you'll see."

"Let's hope so," said Fred with a chuckle. "For all her griping, she's had plenty of opportunities to disown us, and I s'pose it means something that she still hasn't. But all kidding aside, thanks again," he added, more sincerely now. "And I'm not just saying it to get on your good side. George and I really _do _mean it."

"It's for the good of your business," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "How could I say no?"

"For the — r-right," said Fred, his face falling slightly. "Yeah. For the good of our business…."

He didn't know why he suddenly felt so disappointed.

He clicked the briefcase shut and straightened up.

"Well, er… Come on, then, we'd better go and see where George's got to."

* * *

George was waiting in the shadow of a suit of armour when Fred walked by, looking for him. He jumped out and the two of them nearly banged their heads together.

"Ouch — hey — what was that for?"

"So did you tell her yet?" George asked, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

"Tell her what?"

"Well, now that we've taken care of all the business talk, ending with her sportingly agreeing to lend us some of her genius, I figured you'd have stopped putting it off — considering you just spent the last hour staring at her with your mouth hanging open."

"What could I possibly want to say to her that we haven't already brought up?" said Fred.

"There's no _'we'_, clot, just _'you_.'"

"Give it a rest, okay? You'll just keep hitting dead ends."

"Will I, though? You _fancy _her," said George, grinning slyly. "Today was proof of that. Any idiot could have seen it, and you, Fred, are _smitten_."

"You're imagining things," said Fred, shaking his head and elbowing George out of the way.

But George stood his ground so that Fred couldn't get past.

"Oh, but I'm _not_," George said, tapping the tip of Fred's nose so that Fred went slightly cross-eyed. "You forget — I know you better than anyone. You didn't fool me for a second when you said that you didn't like Angelina in our second year. Come on, you can't write her initials all over the last page of your notebook and not expect me to know about it."

"You —?"

"Yep. One of the more unfortunate aspects of having a twin, I'm afraid."

Fred flushed.

"Yeah, sure, there was Angelina. But _Hermione_? Come off it! Why would I fancy _Hermione_ of all people?" said Fred, throwing up his arms in frustration and pushing his brother aside again. "That'd be like fancying _Percy_!"

Fred's brain was suddenly taken over by a horrifyingly disturbing image of Percy wearing a frilly gown and lipstick, and he shuddered. He would have to use a Memory Charm on himself later.

"You tell me," said George. "I'd have thought it was obvious, seeing as you've been spending a lot of time with her lately."

"What are you talking about? Our detention together was about a month ago. I haven't been with her since."

George only looked at his brother, his face unreadable. By "spending time with her", he didn't just mean standing next to Hermione and talking to her. He had watched Fred and Hermione looking at each other across the common room during those late nights after Quidditch practice, and though no words had ever been exchanged between them, Fred evidently didn't know that his eyes had done an awful lot of the talking for him.

George sighed and said quietly, "Whatever you say, then…"

"For the love of — I _don't_ like Hermione, all right?" yelled Fred, so loudly that the helmets on several suits of armour lining the corridor squeaked as they turned their heads towards them.

Fred was breathing very fast as he stared George down, his feet planted firmly apart. At last George put up his hands in surrender — clearly, Fred wasn't going to believe him no matter what he said.

"I won't force you to see what's already there," said George. "There's no need to be so snippy about it. But really, I just want you to know that I couldn't care _less _who you decide to go out with, as long as you're happy."

"Sure," said Fred moodily, and he set off again.

"What's there to be ashamed of, anyway?" said George, following him. "She's a great girl. Absolutely smashing! Intelligent, magically talented, and active in the fight against house-elf oppression, among other things," he continued, reeling them off on his fingers, "and she's quite pretty."

Fred did not reply as they took a shortcut through the Muggle Studies classroom and turned down the corridor beyond.

"Easy to see why Viktor Krum asked her to the Yule Ball. And to be perfectly honest, Fred, you may not be as good a Quidditch player, but you sure as hell are better looking than him. Spanking good looks like that!" George batted his eyelashes. "If he can get the girl, why can't you?"

"George, really, this is getting —"

But George held a hand up to Fred's lips.

"You're right, I should shut up," said George. "That's all you'll hear from me on the subject — at least for now. And if you're still sure you don't want to do anything about this crush of yours, I'll be here." He threw one arm over his brother's shoulder. "Now what say we drop a few flobberworms into Filch's desk drawers?"

Fred allowed George to steer him away, still silent. Even though he had adamantly denied it, at the back of his mind a small worry began to form: the worry that there might have been a grain of truth in his brother's words.

The worry that he, Fred Weasley, might actually have fallen for Hermione Granger.

* * *

I'll resume the previous schedule and upload every Monday and Thursday again. uvu This is where the real fun begins! I sure hope you're still enjoying the story so far, and that you continue to give me reviews and PMs. I really appreciate your feedback! Also sometimes I make a few edits to the previous chapters (i.e. correcting some spelling or grammar errors or adding dialogue that I'd forgotten to put in). c:

Until the next update, then! :)


	7. The Charms Classroom

In the few weeks leading up to Christmas, Harry and Ron began asking Hermione very intrusive questions and badgering her for answers — she'd been sneaking off so often lately (usually taking hours before she returned) that their curiosity got the best of them. And anyway, Hermione had always known they were bound to ask about it eventually. They had every right to be suspicious of her, especially since she always refused, point-blank, to tell them what she was so busy doing. She never pretended that she wasn't hiding anything; it was so blatantly obvious that any attempts at doing so would only make her friends even more doubtful. In fact, they now made use of their free time trying to track her down. They had the help of the Marauder's Map, so they always managed to find out _where_ she was — but in all their years of knowing Hermione Granger, sometimes they still made the grievous mistake of underestimating her capabilities.

And as in all other situations before, she was always at least two steps ahead of them.

What confused them both so much was that Hermione was never in the library, where they naturally expected her to be. She was also never in the same place two days in a row, and Harry and Ron found that very dodgy indeed. Try as they might, however, they could never quite catch her in the act — because every time they approached the room where she happened to be, even under the Invisibility Cloak, they'd be deflected backwards and walk away in a daze, unable to regain control of their movements until they'd gone all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

Another reason why they could never figure out what she was up to was because she was always alone.

Hermione and the twins had thought of the Marauder's Map problem long before they got to work; the last thing Fred and George wanted was to be foiled by the very gift they had given to Harry in the first place.

"Ungrateful prat," George had said with a disbelieving laugh. "You give him a map that shows everyone at Hogwarts exactly where they are at that exact minute — and he uses it against you! Way to show his gratitude, eh?"

Fred had then proceeded to suggest that they add some Cockroach Cluster to Harry's food when he wasn't looking. "Serves him right, the traitor," he had said.

Thanks to Hermione, however, they'd managed to spare Harry the pain of accidentally consuming Cockroach Cluster by devising this very clever solution: They would communicate by writing notes to one another. The finished note could then be vanished with a tricky little spell Hermione knew (a spell that took Fred and George about five days to master, with George accidentally vanishing Fred's favourite earmuffs), and it would simply reappear wherever the other party was. Upon receiving it, they would wipe the note blank, write their reply, and send it back. The twins had found this nothing short of amazing, and they got her a large basket of Honeydukes' best chocolate to give to her as a thank-you present.

Fred and George were now very busy themselves. With the assistance of Lee Jordan (to whom they had also confided their plans), they were giving the rest of their inventions a final test run to make sure that they were all in perfect condition, and as they were so secretive about this on normal days anyway, Harry and Ron hadn't been able to put two and two together. Still on a wild goose chase, they'd even taken to asking Ginny if she knew anything about it, pestering her when they caught her by herself or even when she was with friends. She kept telling them that she didn't know a thing, and one time Harry and Ron annoyed her so much that she threatened to use the Bat-Bogey Hex on them (Harry didn't know exactly what it did, but a look of terror came upon Ron's face and he convinced Harry to stop harassing her at once). But Hermione suspected that Ginny had her reservations; Ginny could pick up on things extremely well. Fred and George were also especially close to her, and she of them, so she certainly knew them better than Ron did. If she really did know what they were up to, she was doing a good job of not letting it on. Sometimes Hermione would catch her eye, and Ginny would smile somewhat encouragingly at her for no apparent reason.

Hermione was, of course, hard at work brewing potions and adding enchantments to the Weasleys' last firework, always making sure that she was well within the bounds of the school rules; she wouldn't have agreed to help otherwise. There were no rules against brewing potions outside of class (so long as they were not to be used improperly), but the reason she kept switching locations from day to day was so that she could never be caught by Harry and Ron. The ingredients for the potions, mercifully, were fairly simple and were included in Hermione's personal potion-making kit. She had been worried about re-experiencing her second year, during which she had been forced to steal ingredients from Professor Snape's private stores to make Polyjuice Potion with Harry and Ron in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She had actually been there just the other day, but Myrtle had paid her no attention and had carried on with wailing in the U-bend.

Today, however, Hermione was using the Charms classroom. While there may have been some rule-breaking involved in unlocking and using it without permission, this was probably the least offense she had ever committed at Hogwarts. When Harry Potter was one of your best friends, getting into trouble came as a sort of a package deal.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she was letting today's potion boil over while rereading the recipe for it in a Potions book she had borrowed from the library, which lay open on her knee. Her hair had been pulled back in a lumpy knot at the back of her head to keep it out of the way, and though the castle had grown very cold since December began, she had shed her sweater; the room was really quite stifling from the potion's fumes. This was the last potion Hermione needed before the firework was complete, and she was feeling tired but happy. It had been oddly fulfilling, if a bit exhausting.

She was just adding a couple of scoops of beetle eyes when a small, triangular piece of parchment appeared in her lap with a tiny _pop _— the first note of the day.

Unfolding it, she read:

_"Hermione — Harry and Ron have just come looking for you. Honestly, it's getting a bit ridiculous. Can't believe it's taken them so long to ask us. We told them they were being nosy and that Fred was just talking about your wedding plans. Sent them off quickly enough. Expect Ron to demand answers when you get back. Cheers, George."_

Hermione smiled wryly. Making the still-glistening ink disappear, she wrote back:

_"Ha-ha. Expect me to tell Professor Sprout that you were the one who stole the puffapod flowers from Greenhouse Three to use as a corsage for the Yule Ball. The potion will be ready in an hour."_

And with a wave of her wand, she sent it away.

Then a sudden knock on the door gave her a violent start, and she knocked over a jar of pickled snake scales. Fearing that it was a teacher standing outside, she got up, haphazardly throwing her sweater over the rest of the ingredients to keep them out of sight. As she walked carefully over to the door, she realized that there was no use trying to hide the potion at all. It would take her too long to get rid of all the evidence, as well as the strong smell of prunes that had filled the room.

Feeling very anxious, she leaned closer to the door squeaked, "H-hello?"

"_Hermione, it's me!_"

"_Fred!_" Hermione exclaimed, opening the door just wide enough for him to sidle in. She might have flung herself at him in relief, had her knees not been so close to giving way. "Oh, thank heavens, I thought you might have been Professor Flitwick!"

"He's in the staffroom rehearsing his lines for that play everyone keeps talking about," said Fred carelessly. He crouched beside the softly bubbling cauldron, flicked his wand, and the fallen jar scooped up the snake scales and resealed itself.

"H-how do you know?" Hermione said as Fred squinted at the ingredients hidden beneath the sweater on the floor. She was beginning to regain her composure, and she reminded herself to tell Ron that the rumours about the play were true. Well, the part about it being real, anyway; she wasn't so sure about Professor Sprout doing the waltz with a bubotuber in dress robes.

"Ah. _That_ you will find out by this Christmas," Fred answered with a cheeky wink. "Now — how's everything coming along?"

"Really well," said Hermione, kneeling beside him and peering at the contents of the cauldron, which had gone frothy and puce-coloured. "It should be done in an hour."

"You're wonderful, you are," said Fred admiringly, beaming. "And getting more and more wonderful every day."

"Er, well, thank you," said Hermione, feeling quite embarrassed.

"I thought it would be nice to drop in and let you know that we've nearly finished up on our end, too."

"O-oh, that's great! Then do you think we'll be all set by Friday?"

"Absolutely." Fred ruffled Hermione's hair, making her bun messier than ever.

She didn't bother trying to fix it, and not only because she knew it was untameable. Fred had taken to ruffling her hair a lot these days. At first it had bothered her to no end, but she'd come to notice that it was how the Weasleys showed their affection for one another, and she could only feel pleased that they considered her as part of their family.

"Oh, sorry," Fred said quickly, noticing that he'd destroyed the bun. "Hang on —"

A few stray strands of hair had fallen loose into Hermione's face, and Fred brushed them away, tucking them behind her ear. Hermione's cheeks burned; his hand had been warm. Fred, however, didn't seem to realize the kind of effect this simple action had had on her.

When Hermione got her voice back, she said, "Um, I forgot to ask — if you came here just to let me know that you're almost done too, couldn't you have just waited until later? I'd have thought you'd be celebrating, maybe with a few tarts from the kitchens." She raised an eyebrow as if daring him to say that they _had _taken a few tarts from the kitchens.

"You're not still going on about _spew_, are you?" said Fred. Last year, both he and George had refused to buy her badges and sign up for her campaign to give house-elves rights.

"It is not '_spew_'!" said Hermione. "But I _would_ appreciate it if you listened to me every now again. Anyway, I sent the note back over to George just before you got here. Why couldn't you have written something in the note instead? It would have saved you some time."

"George wrote you a note already?"

"Yes," said Hermione, surprised. "Weren't you there?"

"I didn't _Apparate _all the way here, you know," said Fred, rolling his eyes. "He must've written it after I left."

Then Hermione suddenly remembered what George had told her in the note. Frowning now, her face once more glowing red with embarrassment, she said, "And what's all this about wedding plans?"

It took Fred a few seconds to work out what she was talking about, and then he blanched, his freckles standing out unnaturally on his pale skin.

"Just something he said to throw Harry and Ron off the scent!" he said hastily. "He didn't mean anything by it!"

"Oh. Of course. Okay, then."

Hermione looked away and flipped absentmindedly through the potions book again, not quite knowing what she was looking for. She didn't understand why she felt so crestfallen. Why did it matter to her that he'd sounded so offended when she'd asked? Was it beneath him to even think that way about someone like her? Well, she thought as she turned a page so forcefully that she nearly tore it out, Fred and George would only like funny girls, or someone who could make them laugh. A stuck-up, standoffish bore certainly wouldn't be good enough to meet their high standards. She was fooling herself if she thought that Fred had actually come to like her. She shook some shredded shrivelfig skin into the cauldron rather harder than was necessary, and stirred the potion so hard that some of it splattered onto Fred's trousers.

But in an effort to dispel the nasty silence that had fallen between them, she asked him, somewhat stiffly, "How's Quidditch?"

"Appalling," he replied. "Oliver isn't allowed to help us directly, so whenever he thinks we've messed up, he kind of just locks his jaw and stares at us with his eyes popping. Makes him look like he's constipated or something."

There was another very long, awkward pause, and Hermione finally plucked up the courage to voice what had been haunting her since the fateful day she'd decided to agree to all this. She felt that she would burst if she didn't bring it up sooner or later.

"It's just that — Ron and Lavender," she blurted out, sounding angrier than she meant to.

Fred looked taken aback by the change of subject.

"What about them?"

"They think… well, they think that we — that _you _li — no, that you and _I_ are… are going out," she finished lamely. "A-and it's not just them! I had about six other people make fun of me for it!"

Fred stared at her.

"I had to tell them all that we weren't, since obviously you didn't bother doing it yourself! I suppose it doesn't matter to _you_ what other people are saying!" Hermione went on, the unexplainable anger and frustration welling up inside her again. This time — though she couldn't explain why — there was a hint of what felt like rejection in there too. "How they ever could have come to that conclusion, I'll never know. But it's all your fault, really, for being so vague that day you went looking for me, who knows how many other people think we're dating!"

"Ah," said Fred, blinking rapidly. "Right. Sorry."

"As you ought to be," said Hermione harshly, turning away from him.

"But… it wouldn't be so impossible, would it?" said Fred, so softly that at first Hermione thought she was hearing things.

When Fred looked at her meaningfully, her eyes grew wide and she gave a high, derisive laugh.

"_Really?_" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You would honestly like _me_ enough to fancy me? Don't be absurd."

Fred shrugged.

"Oh, stop being stupid," scoffed Hermione. "You and I both know that that could never happen!"

"I dunno," said Fred. "Would it really be so hard to imagine, though? I can't be that bad. And I think you're all right."

It was Hermione's turn to stare. When she finally opened her lips to speak, her words came out strangled. "You're not — you're not _actually _saying that you —"

"Oh, God, no!" said Fred, aghast. "I just mean that it's not that I wouldn't — or that I would — or that I _do _— but you're — you know, I — it's —"

"Y-yes, all right, all right! I-I kind of see where you're coming from," said Hermione, her anger abating. "It's, er, the same for me, I suppose."

"It's just really weird," said Fred shiftily. "Thinking about a —" he teetered for a moment on saying "sister" "— friend as a… as a… well, you know what I'm trying to say."

Truth be told, it would have been a miracle if Hermione had understood what he was trying to say when he couldn't make sense of it himself.

"W-well," said Hermione, "I guess I've never really thought much about it until now."

They looked at each other for a very long time before they both turned scarlet and averted their eyes. The only sound in the room was the gentle crackle of the flames underneath Hermione's cauldron.

"You still haven't told me what you've come here for," said Hermione after a while.

"I wanted to check up on you. Er — you and the potion. And er, come here myself," said Fred, fiddling with his shoelaces. "George said it was fine."

Another pause.

"Actually," said Fred, now looking up at the ceiling, "he's on the same page as Ron, you know. About me having a — a thing for you. He's been getting worse. We, er, even had a bit of a row a while ago. And just now he wouldn't shut up about it when I said I was going to see how you were doing. He probably thinks I've sneaked off to snog you or something. But you know, this is about the safest we can get; if he'd told Lee it'd be twice as bad."

He shivered and shut his eyes, not noticing Hermione blush furiously when he'd mentioned George thinking that the two of them were snogging — then again, she hadn't noticed the back of his neck redden, either.

"I keep telling him it isn't like that," Fred continued, "but he won't believe me. So don't worry about it too much if he teases you. I'll knock some sense into him sometime."

"If he wants to end up like Malfoy, he's more than welcome to tease me. He should know by now that it's not very smart to test my patience."

"Don't we all?" said Fred, grinning feebly.

"I still think it's your fault," Hermione said, nudging him a little. "The way you've been saying it… Of course people are going to think something's up. Honestly…"

"I'll remember to be more careful next time. As long as you try not to hex my brother."

"I'll do my best."

"Although," he added as an afterthought, "I admit it's going to be tough for _me_ to try not to hex my brother, too. So I won't blame you if you beat me to it."

And they were too busy pretending not to look as embarrassed as they felt that they hadn't noticed the potion slowly burning until the room turned black with smoke. Fred, acting on instinct, doused it with the nearest liquid he could find — which it happened to be sopophorus bean juice. This made the potion crackle and fizz, shooting out great clouds of ash and coating the two of them in soot. Surprisingly, this didn't make Hermione angry; she and Fred looked at each other for only a second before erupting into fits of uncontrollable laughter. It went on for so long that Hermione was eventually clutching at a stitch in her side. It was a wonder, they later said, that nobody had come to investigate who was making such a racket in there. It took them another two hours to clean up the mess they'd made, and an extra three to remake the potion. But with Fred there to talk to, Hermione felt as though time flew by almost too quickly. At one point, George had sent back the note asking them what they were planning to name their children, prompting Fred to put a spell on it so that George's hands would turn green upon touching it.

When they finally left the Charms classroom at about six in the evening with the completed potion sealed safely in a vial, their faces still smudged black, Hermione had found out more about Fred Weasley than she'd ever thought possible. She'd learned that he only liked eating roast when it was served with his mother's homemade gravy, and that he liked sleeping on his stomach, and that one of his personal goals was to get Professor McGonagall to smile.

It was quite strange to look at him now, with his shirt untucked and his collar unbuttoned and his vivid red hair sticking up every which way from trying to get soot out of it; it felt even stranger than when she had looked at him the night they'd had detention together. It was strange to look at someone you now _knew_, when until a little while ago he was just another person you said hello to. While Ron and Harry were like her brothers, this felt entirely different. Hermione had never got on with the twins as well as she did with Percy or Ginny, and not in her wildest dreams did she think that she ever would.

But that was only because she'd never thought they'd have anything in common, or anything to talk about. And now she thought that this wasn't such a bad thing, getting to know him. It wasn't bad at all. She was actually beginning to feel sort of happy that she had decided to help them. She rather liked spending time with Fred and hearing his jokes, although she would never admit it. For one thing, George wouldn't let either of them live it down.

And she didn't want to have to say that maybe, a little bit, she might have been starting to feel something else.

* * *

Hi, everyone! Thank you so much for all the kind messages and reviews you've given me, and I'd love to hear more from you. Fremione is one of my absolute favorite pairings. I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and I'll see you in the next update. :)


	8. Christmas Eve

Every day after that, Fred and Hermione would never quite meet each other's eyes. Of course, this wasn't really a problem, seeing as they couldn't afford to be seen together by Harry or Ron, but George was beginning to notice how fidgety Fred would get whenever they would pass Hermione in the Great Hall. George constantly insisted that it was because of their carnal, sensual attraction to one another, and nothing Fred said would convince him otherwise. Where before Fred knew exactly what was on his twin's mind, he was now finding it almost impossible to tell when George was kidding and when he wasn't. Very often, George would bring up the subject of Hermione without warning and in a very loud voice, and Fred would use the Silencio Charm on him to shut him up. George would always reverse the spell seconds after, but this, at least, prevented him from going on and on without eventually getting tired. It was rather amusing to watch, as it basically involved the pair of them waving their wands at each other nonstop for about an hour, with George's speech breaking on and off as if he were speaking through a wireless with a horrible signal.

But the only real reason Hermione could go about her life as usual again was because everyone else (apart from George) seemed to have forgotten completely about the whole thing with Fred, and he was determined to keep it that way, for her sake. Fred had seen her cringe when Lavender Brown sat across from her at dinner a few days before, and when all Lavender did was ask her to pass the carrots, Hermione glanced at him and gave him a very shy, relieved half-smile. However, they hardly had time to think about such trivial things with the Weasley twins' debut so close upon them.

Christmas was drawing ever nearer, and with the grounds blanketed in about half a foot of powdery white snow, the students' Yuletide spirits rose, further intensified by the festive feel brought about by Hogwarts' magnificent Christmas decorations. Mistletoe hung over every doorway, and like the previous year, the suits of armour had been bewitched to sing carols at you as you walked by. The same thing applied to Peeves, who, like the previous year, could also be counted upon to sing you carols if you were unfortunate enough to cross his path, but with rather inappropriate lyrics replacing the original ones and perhaps a few peppermint humbugs thrown at your head, too.

Meanwhile, the rumours about Dumbledore's Christmas play became wilder and wilder, with Michael Corner from Ravenclaw saying excitedly during lunch one day that it was to be a musical, starring Professor McGonagall in the story of an orphaned woman who aspired to be the next Celestina Warbeck, but who also couldn't chase after her dreams because her brother (Professor Snape) strongly believed that she ought to have a proper education and become a Healer like their parents had always wanted. Both McGonagall and Snape heard about this very soon, however, and while McGonagall didn't seem to mind what the students gossiped about, Snape most certainly did — and that lost Ravenclaw five sapphires from their hourglass. Michael stopped talking about the play out loud after that.

Harry and Ron had also grown more watchful than ever, and Hermione was forced to stop talking to the twins altogether. This irritated Fred a little (as to why it did, he couldn't say for sure), but it was fortunate that at that point they had already finished up their work; the only thing left for them to do was wait.

And so it was that December nineteenth rolled around. With only six days left before Christmas, Dumbledore, his silver beard and hair gleaming in the light shining through the high, mullioned windows of the Great Hall, made the announcement they had all been waiting for. Over breakfast that morning, from the high table at the top of the hall, he called their attention to say that until further notice meals would be sent up from the kitchens directly to the House common rooms: the teachers, he said amidst whispers of excitement, were about to begin construction.

"My dearest students," said Dumbledore, beaming around at them all, "as you may know, many years ago my predecessor, Professor Armando Dippet, enforced a ban on any pantomimes since Professor Herbert Beery's first and last theatrical work, which, very unfortunately, resulted in the destruction of the set, the untimely and brutally concluded end of a young couple's love, and its numerous subsequent casualties. However," he continued, his light blue eyes now twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, "I have decided to break this proud tradition. After we have tucked into our Christmas feast, we shall end our day with a little production the staff and I have been working on."

Murmurs of interest spread across the room at once.

"Extra precautions have of course been taken to ascertain that the disastrous events of Professor Beery's rather ambitious rendition of '_The Fountain of Fair Fortune_' shall not be repeated, and that the personal romantic relationships between our pupils remain unharmed," Dumbledore went on. "Something for you all to look forward to, I should think!"

Talk broke out almost immediately amongst the students after that, and Ron dipped his head and said, "Brilliant! Maybe you should ask Colin Creevey to take pictures, Harry."

The Christmas play was such a big affair that you could hardly go anywhere without hearing someone talking about it — even among the Hogwarts ghosts it was a popular topic. Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, was especially looking forward to it; according to him, he was a great lover of the theatre in his youth.

It couldn't have been a more perfect time for the twins to introduce Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes: the only other time anyone could remember the castle being so packed over the holidays was because of the Yule Ball. This year it was due to the sudden upsurge of students hastening back to Hogwarts from home after they'd heard the news — and Luna Lovegood was one of them. Dumbledore had arranged for the Hogwarts Express to have a special trip back to Hogsmeade Station from London on the twentieth, and she announced her arrival that day by floating dreamily over to the Gryffindors as they sat by the lake making snowmen. She wasn't exactly hard to miss — especially since she had decided to sport large, luminous stars in her dirty-blonde hair — and as soon as Harry and the others spotted Luna bobbing down the snow-covered slope, still holding one of her suitcases, they rushed out to meet her. They welcomed her back and invited her to join them, asking her about her holidays. But Luna didn't give them any satisfactory (or for that matter, comprehensible) answers, saying that she'd only stopped by to ask if they'd heard that the teachers were also going to use babbling budgiers as props in the play. When Harry politely asked her what babbling budgiers were, she said that they were tiny, insect-like creatures that sounded like a bunch of people murmuring to each other, very often used by playwrights to create the illusion that their shows were interesting and attract good reviews from their critics. No one said anything more to that, so Luna bade them farewell and glided away again, saying something about wanting a cup of gurdyroot tea.

"It really takes a while to get used to that one, doesn't it?" commented a thoroughly bemused George, watching her skip back up to the school.

Soon the day passed, and then another, and then another, until it was already the twenty-fourth, and the atmosphere was thicker than ever with anticipation. The excitement was almost tangible. A few students had even caught a brief glimpse of the newly-erected stage in the Great Hall, a thick red curtain hiding the teachers from view as they had their last minute rehearsals, before Professor Sprout shooed them all good-naturedly away ("It'll ruin the surprise!").

Christmas Eve dinner in the Gryffindor common room was an enjoyable ordeal. To get into the spirit of things, Lee Jordan had sneaked out of the school and returned with his arms heavily laden with food and drink from Madam Rosmerta's pub in Hogsmeade, the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta was by now so used to having him and the twins turn up unexpectedly that she supplied all the butterbeers and Cauldron Cakes Lee could carry with no questions asked, and she wished him and Fred and George a Merry Christmas. Not even Hermione objected to the festivities; Fred watched her fondly from across the room as she ate custard creams with Ron, Ginny, and Harry. Her hair was in a bun again, and Fred rather liked it — it was much easier to see her smile that way. A book was sitting on her lap, but she didn't open it until she noticed Fred staring, at which point she hurriedly held it up against her face and read — but it was upside-down. This caused Fred to snort loudly into his plate of lamb chops and buttered peas, and for her forehead to turn brick red over the top of her book.

Well past twelve and long after the others had turned in, Fred and George still sat, uncharacteristically quiet, on the hearth of the now-empty common room, holding the remnants of their plum pudding. The fire crackled merrily, casting a warm, orange glow on their faces.

"It's tomorrow," said Fred in hushed wonderment. "It's finally tomorrow. You ready, Georgie?"

"Think so," George replied. He, too, looked as if he could hardly believe it. "And thanks to Harry, this time next year we'll have our shop in Diagon Alley."

"I can already see it," said Fred, a smile spreading across his face. "Think we should make him our cover boy? Maybe put a poster of him on the front door?"

"Not just the door — how about plastered all over the walls?"

"Bet he'll love that," Fred sniggered. "But let's not forget Hermione; we wouldn't even be here if it hadn't been for her."

"How could I forget?" said George, smirking. "She's the girl my brother's head over heels for. Want to put up posters of her on the walls too? Or maybe you'd like to save just one for your room?"

"You're not still going on about that, are you?" said Fred. "After everything she's done, don't you think she deserves as much of our thanks as Harry does?"

"I'm still going on about it because it's still true," said George calmly. "You can say whatever you want, Fred, but I'm not blind. I was watching you earlier, and I haven't seen you look at a girl like that since Angelina scored a goal from all the way across the pitch. You know, the sooner you tell her, the better. Who knows how often you'll get to speak to her when this is all over."

Fred lapsed into silence. That was right. While it was widely known that the Weasleys were good friends with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, Fred was still a full year older than them. It would be odd if he suddenly started spending more time with Hermione in public. Nothing against Harry, of course, but Fred didn't want to start using him as an excuse to approach her. Yet the bitter truth remained: after Christmas, he and Hermione wouldn't really have any reasons to spend more time with each other. People would talk if he tried to maintain contact, and he knew how upset that made her. And, he realized as his insides froze, this was also his last year at Hogwarts, which meant that he would only get to see Hermione if she came by his and George's future shop in Diagon Alley, or stayed at the Burrow again for the holidays. And why would she want to visit him at Diagon Alley if not just to drop by in the middle of shopping for her school things? For some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of that.

And then Fred's brain seemed to cease functioning. The words in his head were all just floating around aimlessly, echoing in the hollow space, making his eardrums ring.

He couldn't stand the thought of not being with her. Why? Why couldn't he stand the thought of not being with her?

Why did he think about her so often? Why did he like the sound of her voice? Why did he like the colour of her eyes? Why did he now feel so unreasonably jealous of Ron, his _own brother_, for spending so much time with her? These words continued to echo until Fred's ears throbbed. Just as he was starting to feel like it couldn't get any worse, images of Hermione swirled inside his very full head, each moment with her melding into the next until it all became a haze of memories. He wanted it to stop, he didn't want to hear anymore, and he didn't want to see, and he didn't want to feel — and then everything disappeared quite suddenly. The silence that followed was almost as deafening.

The gears in Fred's brain began to whir to life again, slowly at first, and then so fast that he started feeling dizzy. He had finally named the feeling that had been torturing him for so long without his realizing it.

Fred wanted to be with her. It was as simple as that. And all it meant was that he really, truly lo —

George set his plate down on the floor with a soft clink, jolting Fred out of this thoughts. George stretched widely, yawning, and pushed himself up.

"Time to turn in, then. Lots to do tomorrow," he said with a wink. "Don't stress yourself out, there, mate."

"Er, I think I'll go to bed too," said Fred at once, starting to get to his feet. "I could use a good sleep."

"Yeah, it's gotten pretty late, hasn't — oh, hang on," said George abruptly as he paused near a table and seemed to stuff something up his shirt, "I've changed my mind. D'you mind waiting here for me? I'm just going out for a bit."

"What?"

"I think I need some hot chocolate. Just for the nerves."

"Oh," said Fred, feeling slightly confused. "Well, I'll come with —"

"I can manage," piped up George. "Do you need me to get you anything, though?"

"No, I'm all set, thanks," said Fred slowly. "But why can't I come?"

"I'll be fine on my own," George insisted. "I'll only be a few minutes."

"You sure?"

"Positive," said George cheerily. "See you in a bit."

And Fred let him go against his better judgment, still feeling dumbfounded and somewhat suspicious. He stared after George until the Fat Lady's portrait had swung shut.

"What was that all about?" he muttered aloud. He was just thinking about tailing George to see what he was up to when a confused voice from the direction of the girls' staircase interrupted his musings.

"What was what all about?" asked the voice.

Fred glanced over his shoulder to see Hermione standing on the bottom-most step, wearing a nightgown and a pair of fluffy bedroom slippers. She was looking at him quizzically.

"It was George," said Fred, turning back to the portrait hole with a baffled expression. "He's acting really weird… But wait," he said, twisting around to look at her again, his heart beating a violent tattoo against his ribs as he realized who he was talking to, "what are you doing up? You went to bed hours ago."

"I did. But just now I woke up with the strangest feeling that I'd forgotten something," she replied. "So I looked over at my bedside table and realized that I was missing my copy of _Quintessence: A Quest_. You haven't seen it around by any chance, have you?"

"Was that what you were 'reading' earlier?" asked Fred, forgetting about George for the moment. He found it was still surprisingly easy to grin at her.

"As a matter of fact," said Hermione as her cheeks turned furiously pink, "it _was_."

"Well, where did you last see it?"

She pointed over his head.

"At that table over there, where I was sitting with Harry and the others."

Fred followed her finger and craned his neck to get a better look. Upon the low round table at which she was pointing, there were three goblets and one empty plate, but no books. With a start, he realized that it was the same table George had been standing at before he left.

"Oh," he said, blinking. He swore under his breath.

"What?" asked Hermione anxiously.

"George took it," said Fred.

"Took my —?"

"George took it," said Fred again. "I told you he was acting funny, right? We were supposed to go up to bed just before you came down, but he left to get himself some hot chocolate. And before he did, he stopped over at that table and I thought I saw him take something. He _knew_ you were going to come down for it."

Comprehension dawned on Hermione's face, too.

"He keeps trying to get us alone together," said Fred.

"Well, I'm not leaving until he comes back with my book," said Hermione angrily. She stomped across the room and dumped herself next to Fred on the floor. She crossed her arms, staring intently into the fire. "I can't _believe _him!"

"Reckon he's standing out there right now, listening to every word we say," said Fred. "Maybe you _should_ go up. I don't want to give him the satisfaction."

"No," said Hermione flatly. "I'm through letting him manipulate me. I'll wait all night if I have to. I'll get him as soon as he sets foot in this room."

"Hey, don't forget we've got plans," Fred reminded her grimly. "At least wait until it's done. After tomorrow we'll have a business to run, and I can't do it alone."

"Oh, _fine_."

"Don't worry, I'll let you have free reign once we've set up. All I ask is that you refrain from permanently disfiguring him."

Hermione sighed and leaned against the sofa behind her. Fred kept quiet, allowing her to wind down, without knowing that he had begun to stare. Although she seemed exhausted, Fred noticed (with some degree of embarrassment) that she looked quite pretty in the firelight — but of course, she'd always been pretty. Then he began to see the little things that made her look almost broken, like her chapped lips, and the calluses on her fingers. There were also dark circles under her eyes, and he wondered if she slept at all. She probably didn't get much of it; a few weeks before, Fred had trudged in from Quidditch practice with the others at past one in the morning, and he found Hermione hard at work in a corner, parchment littering her table and the floor, numerous books spread open around her. He preferred her the way she was right now, tranquil and at ease, her eyelids half-closed and her chest gently rising and falling with each breath.

Fred had thought that talking to her again would be more awkward now that he had come to terms with his feelings, but it wasn't any less difficult than it had been before. Being with her just felt so _natural._

And after a few more months, he would never get to see her like this again. The only way he could ever spend time with her after he graduated was when she got off from school — and if she decided to stay at the Burrow. And even then he would be skating on thin ice; privacy at the Weasleys' was the last thing you could expect. He would never have another moment like this, and he let this sink in. He would miss her, and her shrewdness, and the way she looked when she laughed.

George had been right all along.

"Are you feeling nervous at all, Fred?" Hermione asked softly.

"A bit," Fred admitted. "Wouldn't you be?"

"I am," said Hermione with a shaky laugh, drawing her legs up to her chest. "I suppose that was one of the reasons that I slept so lightly tonight. But I'm also rather excited." Her face was shining when she looked at him, her eyes bright. "It'll be absolutely wonderful, I just know it."

Fred smiled back.

"I think so, too. Oh — and we were thinking of having an after party tomorrow night with more butterbeers and things from the kitchens. You don't mind, do you? I mean, all that extra work for the house-elves and everything?"

"It's fine," said Hermione earnestly. "You deserve a little party. Of course, it would be nice if you started cutting back on taking food from them all the time," she said pointedly, "but as tomorrow is a special day, I think I'll let you off."

Fred, who hadn't expected her to be so considerate, stared at her again. And he started to notice the things that didn't make her look broken — things that made her alive: the laugh lines around her mouth, the light that danced in her brown eyes, and the small tufts of hair at the nape of her neck.

With a pang of longing, he thought: _When will I ever get another night like this?_ He didn't want to let her go when he had just found her; there were still so many things left to say, so many questions left to ask. For one thing, he really wanted to know if she'd ever failed an exam in her life — and how was he ever going to find out if he would be gone by next year? Would she still want to spend time with him after this was over? How was he supposed to explain to her that he wanted to be with her? What was he supposed to do, _confess_? Not bloody likely. She'd turn her wand on him without a second thought — and as Fred had already seen his fair share of her hexes, he wasn't looking forward to experiencing them first-hand.

But time was running short. Before long Hermione would be saying good night, and that would be the end of it. Fred will have lost his chance. By the following evening, their temporary collaboration would come to an end. Neither of them would have time for the other after that, anyway, because she would go back to being the studious, law-abiding prefect that she was, and he would have his own business to conduct. To top it off, Hermione had her O.W.L.s and Fred has his N.E.W.T.s. He didn't give a hoot about his exams, but she did. Several hoots, in fact. Things weren't looking so good for him.

George had given him this opportunity because he'd always known that Fred would need it. Was he going to throw it all away just like that?

"Er, Hermione?" Fred said at last, not knowing exactly how to phrase what he was about to say.

"Yes?"

"Er — what exactly d'you think about — about all this with George? With him thinking I fancy you?"

"Why do you ask?" said Hermione, and Fred saw that he couldn't have picked a worse time to tell her, after all; she had now closed herself up, stiffening her shoulders and straightening her posture. Her hands, which until a few seconds ago had been wrapped loosely around her legs, had now been withdrawn, folded tightly over her stomach. She was clearly still very uncomfortable about the subject and did not seem prepared to start discussing it again.

"I just… wanted to know." He was now casting around for something else to talk about just in case.

"We aren't going down this road again, are we?" she said, almost angrily. "Because I thought we'd both agreed to —"

"I know, I know," said Fred hurriedly. "I just mean that — well — would it really be so bad? Have you ever, you know, thought about it?"

Hermione only looked at him, her expression indiscernible. The fire was burning low in the grate and her face was half in shadow.

"Because I have," said Fred, his gaze lingering on her chapped lips a little too long. "Well, George has been hounding me about it, too, but — well, I realized that this is my last year here. And that means that I, er, I won't really get to see you lot anymore. Unless you come round for the holidays."

"And what's the problem?"

"Er —"

Hermione waited.

"The problem," Fred said. "Er, the problem would be that I… er…"

"That you what?"

"Oh, if I ever learn how to tell you, I'll make sure to let you know," snapped Fred, feeling more frustrated than ever. He tossed his plate aside so that it rolled away and clattered loudly underneath an armchair. This was one of the most difficult things he had ever done._ He was only supposed to tell her the truth._ It was just three little words!

And then, still feeling the pressure of her gaze, he half-shouted, "I've only just gotten to know you, and then I have to leave! I don't know, it just… bothers me!"

"Oh," was all Hermione said in reply.

Fred now felt extremely stupid. He gave a hollow sort of laugh before shaking his head.

"You know what, forget I said anything. We should both go to sleep," he said with a hard, forced smile, avoiding her eyes. "See you tomorrow."

"What?" said Hermione with a start. "But — no — Fred, wait —"

She grabbed onto the edge of his sleeve.

"P-please don't go yet."

"In case you haven't noticed, it's gotten a little weird in here," said Fred, making a pitiful attempt at a joking tone. "I basically just told you, 'well, will you look at that, George was right, I fancy you, go out with me or else I'm going to look like an idiot and will have to escape in about five seconds before I die of shame.' I think you can understand why I want to get the hell out of here." He made to leave again, but Hermione held on even tighter.

"Let's not make this any harder," said Fred quietly, a pained note in his voice.

"But — but I — I —"

Hermione looked as though she were on the verge of tears, her face beet red.

Fred waited on tenterhooks for her to speak, not daring to assume what she was going to say in case reality crashed down upon him — but at the last second, Hermione seemed to think better of it.

"Erm, n-never mind," she mumbled, letting go of him as suddenly as if she'd been electrocuted. "Good — good night. And good luck tomorrow."

It was as though his body had shut down. Fred stared at Hermione for a full minute, unable to process what she had just said, before he came to his senses and gave her an awkward goodbye. As he climbed up to his dormitory, he mentally cursed himself. What exactly had he been hoping for? For her to declare her undying love and run away with him into the sunset? Just because she'd defended his family once didn't imply that she had any sort of feelings for him at all. She'd seemed interested in his work and had even gone so far as to praise his magic and call him amazing, but that didn't mean that she was prepared to be his girlfriend. All it meant was that she was a good friend who cared about him and wanted to see him succeed in life. Hadn't she stressed enough times that she didn't like him that way? He'd just been imagining every tint of pink in her cheeks, every tremble when his hands would brush against her skin. He'd made a pretty big fool of himself, all right. But he didn't blame George for any of it, because George hadn't been wrong. Fred _did_ fancy Hermione — she just didn't feel the same about him.

But even as he closed the dormitory door, he could have sworn he heard Hermione sob.

* * *

I've been waiting all day to upload this, because it's one of the bits that made me really emotional while I was writing. Not many updates left now, but I do hope you stay until the very end. Thanks for reading, and for all your support. :)


	9. Merry Christmas

Hermione was awoken bright and early the next day by the sounds of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil giggling. Birds were twittering somewhere outside, and she could hear people laughing in the common room below. But she lay there for a long time, her face buried in her pillow, thinking about last night — at the moment, she couldn't remember much, except that she had cried a lot.

That's right… Fred had told her how he felt. Of course, she hadn't really known then how to react. Her first instinct had been to just bolt upstairs and bury herself in blankets for the rest of her life, but she hadn't been able to move her legs. She'd sat there, staring off into space, repeating his words over and over again in her head to make sure she hadn't heard them wrong. Fred Weasley fancying _her_? She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought. But she wasn't even entirely certain just yet about how to tell him how _she_ felt.

Hermione liked Fred. So much that it was embarrassing to say it in her own head. It had happened little by little, though she had probably realized it sooner that he had. She thought about Lavender, who'd been wholly convinced that Fred had fancied her. Well, it turned out that she, like George, had been right too — and while Lavender had found the news thrilling, Hermione could not forget Pansy Parkinson's scornful words. When Rita Skeeter had written all those lies about Hermione being in a love triangle with Harry and Viktor Krum, Hermione had taken it in her stride and held her head high, determined not to let Rita's stupid article get to her, no matter what anyone else said.

But things had been different when it was about Fred, and Hermione only now understood why: Fred hadn't meant to make the rest of the school think that they were going out. That had been a complete accident. Of course, she had been blinded by her anger then, but now she could see that she had acted the way she did because she hadn't wanted rumours to sprout where Fred himself might not have wanted them. She had grown to appreciate him and didn't want to cause any trouble for him, and she knew that he would have done the same for her. Weren't they friends? And weren't friends supposed to look out for each other? That was what she'd thought at first — that they were just friends. She wondered when exactly she had gone too deep.

Last night, Hermione had forgotten how to speak. Fred had told her how he felt at last, and because she hesitated a moment too long, he thought that her silence meant a flat-out "no." She had been terribly afraid of what he would say had she responded at all. Yet there was also another thing disturbing her: How sure was she that he had been serious? How was she supposed to know that it wasn't just another elaborate (if hurtful) trick?

But then she remembered the look on his face and had to stifle a sob. No one could fake an expression like that.

Did he hate her now? She was really dreading the prospect of seeing him later that night, before their fireworks display. She didn't want to have to confront him about it — as a matter of fact, she thought as she sank deeper into her mattress, she didn't want to get out of bed at all if it meant having to look him in the eyes after what she did. But then again, it wasn't as if she could hide in her dormitory forever. What was she going to do the next time she saw him? Were they going to act as if he hadn't said anything and go on as they normally would? Or did she have no other choice but to talk to him?

Deciding with a heavy heart that she would cross that bridge when she came to it, she rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes, slipped out from under her sheets, and opened the hangings on her four-poster bed. Dazzling winter sunlight was flooding the room through the windows, and Hermione's roommates were happily going through their presents. Quite frankly, it surprised her that she hadn't been woken up sooner by the loud sound of wrapping paper being ripped off.

"Merry Christmas!" said Parvati cheerfully.

"Merry Christmas," said Hermione, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat, which still stung from crying. It looked as if neither Parvati nor Lavender had the slightest inkling what had happened last night, for which she was grateful; she didn't think she quite handle Lavender's dramatic reactions a second time.

"Well, go on, then, sleepyhead, go and get your presents!" said Lavender, laughing.

Hermione crawled to the foot of her bed and began to unwrap her gifts. She received a diary and a beautiful new quill from Harry, some Toothflossing Stringmints from Ron, and a pair of oversized woollen mittens from Hagrid, which, according to his untidily scrawled note, he had knitted himself. From Mrs. Weasley she received some delicious-looking mince pies and a light blue jumper. She pulled this over her head as she picked up a large parcel from her parents: it contained a brand new coat and a photograph enclosed with a lovely letter, and she placed these last two carefully underneath her pillow with a small smile.

"Open ours up, then," chirped Lavender.

She and Parvati had given her several prettily embroidered handkerchiefs.

"We made them," said Parvati proudly.

"Thank you," said Hermione. "They're wonderful."

She set the handkerchiefs aside and noticed one last package poking out of the bottom of the pile. To her pleasant surprise, she found that it was a package from George, upon which was taped the note: _"I hope you use these properly, and not as weapons like what you did with your quill."_ Curious and eager to see what he had given her, she unwrapped the package and a beautiful pair of carved wooden bookends fell into her lap.

"Wow," Hermione whispered as she picked them up and examined their intricate designs. Elegant owls poised for flight were carved into the upper corners, framing the fields etched into the middle of each bookend, and when she put them side by side, the grass in the field seemed to rustle. They were the loveliest bookends Hermione had ever seen, and she knew that they wouldn't have come cheap. She placed them carefully on her bedside table, on either end of a row of her textbooks, and felt a sudden rush of fondness for George.

And of course, Crookshanks wasn't to be outshone either. He sprang up onto Hermione's bed and pawed her foot, meowing. Instead of the usual dead mouse or bird, in his mouth was a bunch of small white flowers, which he dropped into Hermione's hands. He purred deeply, his bottlebrush tail held high in the air.

"Oh, Crookshanks, did you get these for me?" Hermione crooned.

The great ginger cat blinked at her and purred again.

"Thanks," Hermione said, scratching him behind his ears. "I'll make sure to save you something nice from dinner."

Crookshanks looked rather pleased with himself.

But there was only so much Hermione could do to hide her disappointment that there was nothing in the pile from Fred — no note, no small package. Nothing. She bent over to open her trunk, pushed aside its contents, and gazed sadly at her gift to him, which lay, forlorn, at the very bottom. She'd been hiding it there ever since she finished making it, and the events of the previous night had destroyed all chances of her ever giving it to him. He hadn't bothered with a present for her, either — and even though she knew she shouldn't have been expecting one from him anyway, she'd allowed herself to hope for too much. Hermione put the wrapping paper and empty boxes away gloomily, and dressed to go down to breakfast with the other girls.

Harry and Ron, both wearing their Weasley jumpers, as well (Ron's was still maroon), joined them in the common room and together the five of them cheerfully made their way to the Great Hall, which they were now allowed to enter again. As usual, it looked absolutely stunning with its twelve towering, glimmering Christmas trees and the festoons of holly that adorned every corner; the only difference this year was that the staff table had been moved forward, so that it was closer to the House tables. This was because an enormous wooden stage had been built at the far end of the hall where it usually stood. It was obscured by magnificent red velvet curtains that hung to the floor, trimmed with gold braid and tassels. Many of the students were pointing at it and whispering to one another, all swapping theories on what kind of set was hiding behind it. The sky overhead was pearly white, and enchanted snow swirled gently down from the ceiling.

Hermione's heart skipped when she saw that Fred and George were already at the Gryffindor table — but they weren't speaking. Fred seemed very subdued. He looked up when Hermione and the others came in, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"G-good morning," Hermione said tentatively to Fred, taking a seat opposite him while Harry and Ron took seats on both sides of her.

"'Morning," said Fred. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas."

"Good haul this year?" he asked her politely.

Hermione wondered nervously if this was his way of giving her his present late, or else his way of saying that he hadn't made a mistake and that he had purposely neglected to give her anything after all. She tried to smile, but only managed a sort of grimace.

"Quite good, thank you. And — and you?" she asked, her thoughts immediately zooming back up the marble staircase and into the girls' dormitory where she was still hiding her present to him. She swallowed and hoped that he wouldn't notice her blushing.

"Not bad," Fred replied. And he turned back to his breakfast without another word.

Feeling numb, Hermione looked away too.

"Season's greetings to you as well, Hermione!" said George after he had greeted everyone else.

"Happy Christmas, George," said Hermione. "Thanks for the really nice gift."

"Right back at you! Just in time too, I was running low on my Zonko's stuff." Then George rubbed his hands together and addressed the group at large. "So! Big day today, eh?"

"Yeah, this play should be great!" said Ron enthusiastically.

"You haven't found out what it's about yet, have you?" Harry said eagerly to George.

"Regrettably not," George replied. "But that is of little importance, young Harry! For tonight you shall witness a spectacle unlike anything you've ever seen!"

"You mean like Snape in leotards?" sniggered Ron.

"Ah, best not let old Severus hear you say that, Ronald," said George, waggling his finger at his brother. "Wouldn't want our prefect to lose his House points over insulting a figure of authority. Percy will be sending his Howler in any day now."

Ron scowled as everyone else laughed, with Ginny almost choking on her fried tomatoes — but Fred and Hermione's smiles had become rather fixed.

"What should we do till dinner, then?" said Ginny after she had washed down the tomatoes with some water.

"What say you to a good old-fashioned snowball fight, chaps and ladies?" George suggested pompously, gesturing to the windows, through which they could see the snow-covered grounds. "Perfect conditions for it!"

"I'm up for it," said Harry. "When do we start? After Christmas tea?"

"As soon as you're done with that," said George, nodding at Harry's food. "You coming, Ginny?"

Ginny grinned.

"Wouldn't miss it."

* * *

Hermione sat on a low boulder, her hands wrapped around a jar containing the portable blue flames she was so adept at conjuring, as she watched her friends lob snowballs at each other, shouting and laughing and free of the burdens she carried. Hermione looked on as Harry's glasses got knocked askew by a particularly good hit from Ginny, and watched with glazed eyes as Ron was repeatedly bombarded in the back of the head by George, who was cheating by secretly using his wand under his sleeve. Hermione herself nearly got hit twice by Ron, whose battle tactics soon changed to just whirling his arms wildly around like a mad sort of windmill, throwing snowballs at random with his eyes scrunched up and hoping they would hit George somehow.

Fred had also decided to sit this one out, but he was sitting a ways away. Occasionally, he would smile when George gave him a thumbs-up before another ferocious aim at Ron, but otherwise he remained stony-faced and brooding. Hermione watched him anxiously out of the corner of her eye; she was having a silent, furious debate with herself on whether she should approach him and talk things over. It wasn't normal to see him looking so downcast, and she hated to think that she was causing it.

Before she could decide, however, Ron made a great lunge for George but missed, jumping headlong into a mound of snow instead — because George came running up to Fred just then, panting and wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead. Hermione strained her ears to listen.

"Phew! Well, that was invigorating!" George said, giving Fred a jovial clap on the back. "Why're you wasting your youth sitting around, Freddie, m'lad? Join in!"

"No thanks, I'm fine here."

"Oh, go on, have an imperfectly moulded ball of snow thrown at your face and feel alive!"

"Come on, George, I already said —"

But George had just magicked a large pile of snow to fall over him, and he spluttered.

"Feeling alive yet?" said George brightly.

Fred said something that Hermione couldn't make out — probably because the snow had gotten into his mouth too.

"Can't quite hear you, sorry," said George in a singsong voice.

Fred spat the snow out of his mouth and glowered at his twin.

"Get your knickers out of that knot, I just need someone to replace me for a few minutes," said George, whose face did look rather raw from the cold. "I'm exhausted. I'll come back in a bit."

"Fine," said Fred, getting up and brushing the snow off himself. "But mark my words, I'm getting you back for that."

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it," said George. "And don't let Ron get you, it'll take all the fun out of the game!"

Once Fred was out of earshot, George hurriedly made his way over to Hermione. Panicking that he might have noticed her watching, she quickly turned her attention back to the snowball fight; Harry and Ron had staggered into each other and were now in a groaning heap on the snowy ground. Ginny was giggling so hard she was bent double. Hermione tried to look as nonchalant as possible, but she stiffened as she heard George settle himself down beside her, huddling up as close as he could to the fire. Hermione waited for him to ask whether she had been eavesdropping. And then —

"Mind sharing that?" asked George, pointing to the jar.

"O-oh," said Hermione, quite surprised. "Of — of course not. Here —"

She scooted a little closer, and George pulled off his thick gloves to wrap his hands around the jar too. He sighed in contentment and his breath fogged the air.

"Ah, that feels much better."

Hermione smiled crookedly.

"Tough game?"

"Hardly," said George. "Ron's not much of an opponent."

He nodded at the others; Harry and Ginny, both of whom seemed to have taken pity on Ron, had now teamed up with him, and the three of them were hiding behind a makeshift fort while Fred lazily bewitched snowballs to fly at them nonstop.

"That's not the proper way to have a snowball fight, Fred!" George called.

"Still winning!" Fred called in reply.

"You have no right to be saying that," said Hermione dryly. "You were using magic on Ron, too."

George waved her words away.

"Yes, well, I wasn't doing it out in the open, at least." He grunted as he shifted his position. "Glad I got out of that for a little while. My fingers are almost frostbitten, look." He held up his hand and surveyed it with mild interest.

"I could help with that, if you like," Hermione offered timidly, reaching for her wand.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," said George, blowing some air into his hands and reaching for the jar again. "That's not what I came here to talk about, at any rate. You knew this was coming," he added when he saw her gulp. He looked sideways at her. "Last night didn't go too well, did it?"

"No," said Hermione, her smile faltering. "It didn't go well at all."

"How'd he tell you, anyway? I probably should have given him a few tips."

"Well, he… he sort of asked me how I felt about you thinking he fancied me."

"Wrong way to start," George said in an undertone. "And then?"

"And then he just… told me that he'd miss me. You know, after he was gone."

George shook his head.

"No, you're paraphrasing. Tell me _exactly_ how he said it."

Without asking him how in the world he'd known that, Hermione said, "Erm, he told me that he didn't want to leave after he'd just met me. He said that after he graduated, he wouldn't be able to see me very much anymore. And — and that it bothered him."

George clucked his tongue. "Really sophisticated, Fred."

"H-how has he been doing?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"You've seen him — dragging his feet everywhere, _moping_. He won't talk about it — I didn't think he liked you _this_ much, to be honest."

"Oh no, I'm really sorry." Hermione hung her head. "This is all my fault."

"Don't be stupid, it's not your fault. But how do you feel about him? From what I could tell, you didn't exactly say no — even though he seems to think you did."

"I thought he would," said Hermione miserably.

"Do you fancy him too, or is it sort of just in an 'I-don't-mind-having-him-around' way?"

"I — I do like him. At least, I think so," said Hermione, very, very quietly. This was the first time she had ever told anyone about this. She had gone red again and was fumbling with the lid of the jar. The thing was, though, she didn't just "think so" — she was completely sure that she _did_ like Fred. The whole business still made her feel very anxious.

"Do Harry and Ron know?" said George.

Hermione shook her head vigorously.

"Ah, well," said George. "That's adolescence for you. The pain of love, and all that. If anyone's to blame, it should be me — it was my fault for setting you up in the first place." He grinned guiltily. "Sorry I haven't given you your book back, by the way."

"That's all right," said Hermione with a despondent sigh. "But do you think you could return it by tonight? I'll just finish it after the feast."

George raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Tonight?"

"Well — yes. I, um, don't really feel like sticking around for the fireworks anymore."

He looked at her shrewdly again.

"All you keep doing is asking about Fred," George said, his tone more gentle now. "How are _you_ holding up, though?"

Hermione glanced up and looked straight into his eyes, her lip trembling. It was becoming very hard to hold it all in.

"Oh, George — what do I do?" she said, a lump rising in her throat. "He — he doesn't _hate_ me, does he?"

"'Course not," George answered with a slight laugh. "What d'you look so scared for?"

"Oh, I don't want him to h-hate me," she said, starting to sob. "I just d-didn't know what to say. H-he said it s-so suddenly that I d-didn't have t-time to think. I-I panicked."

"Er, don't cry," said George, awkwardly patting her arm. "It'll be all right, you'll see. He's just being an insufferable prat, that's all. He _can_ be, you know. But he doesn't _hate_ you. Haven't I just spent the last few month trying to make him realize that he feels the exact opposite? And how can you hate someone you like?"

"S-since it's m-me he l-likes, I c-can think of a l-lot of g-good reasons."

"That's the problem with you: you overthink things," said George matter-of-factly. "But don't let this get in the way of the show! You worked really hard on this with us, I don't want you to miss out on it!"

"W-what's t-the point of b-being around to see it if I c-can't e-enjoy myself?"

"Hermione, it's _Christmas Day_!" said George, giving her shoulders a little shake. "You aren't going to let a trifle like this ruin one of the best days of the year, are you? Even if it is over my stupid brother. If you say anything else about trying to escape, I will personally use the Jelly-Legs Jinx on you so that you can't run away."

"But G-George —"

"No, I don't want to hear it," said George sternly. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll go and get tonight's party food from Hogsmeade instead. I'll do it just for you. In the spirit of spew."

"It's n-not s-_spew_," said Hermione, but she had pulled up the corners of her mouth in a feeble smile.

But at that moment, Harry shouted, "_Protego!_", deflecting Fred's attacks magnificently ("Nice work, Harry!" cheered Ron) — but the invisible shield that now protected the little fort made the snowballs go astray. They went for Hermione instead, raining down on her like a barrage of angry little Hedwigs. The force of the impact knocked her backwards off the boulder with a shriek of surprise. George roared with laughter and caught the jar of flames before it tumbled to the ground. Wide-eyed and pale, Harry yelled, "Sorry, Hermione!"

George was on all-fours now, banging his fist on the ground. Even Hermione couldn't help it; she laughed, too. She broke out of the mountain of snow that lay on top of her and shakily sat up.

"I f-feel much better n-now," said Hermione through her giggles, wiping a few tears out of her eyes. "T-thank y-you."

"Don't mention it," George said after he had calmed down enough to speak. He helped her get back onto the boulder, and, still covered with snow, she gave him a very watery smile.

"Why are you b-being so nice to m-me?" she asked.

"Because you matter," said George. "So you'll be joining us for the fireworks after all, then?"

"Well… I-I…"

George looked at her expectantly.

"Oh, a-all right, I'll go," said Hermione.

"Atta girl." Then George cupped his hands around his mouth. "OY, FRED! SWITCH OUT! Another game from you and you're girlfriend'll end up in hospital!" With one last wink at Hermione, he said, "Till tonight, then," and dashed away.

* * *

We're finally getting to the exciting bit! I actually feel a bit of the anticipation myself. :) I hope you're enjoying the story so far, because there's only going to be one more update. Thank you so very much if you've waited for these updates each week, and for all your amazing reviews. I really appreciate all your support. Hang tight, and I hope you'll be around for the last chapter.


	10. Fireworks

The Weasleys stayed out until noon before heading back up to the castle for lunch, and afterwards they whiled away the remaining hours in the common room by going through each other's presents. Ron kept flaunting the small book filled with autographs from all the members of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team that Hermione had managed to acquire for him. As he leafed eagerly through it, he wondered aloud how she could have obtained such a thing, and his feelings toward it took a nasty turn when Harry commented that she had probably gotten it through Viktor.

When the sun began to set and the common room was bathed in gold light, a slow trickle of Gryffindors filed excitedly past them in groups and out of the portrait hole. It seemed that everybody wanted to be at the Great Hall early. Soon Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys were the only ones left in the Tower, and through the windows they watched the surrounding mountains swallow up the last rays of the sun. When the moon had risen, they made their way downstairs too.

The long-awaited Christmas Feast had arrived.

Once they had reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Hermione, who felt as though there were a lot of butterflies fighting to get out of her stomach, separated herself from Harry and Ron by pretending to see someone she needed to talk to in the throng of people crowded around the doors of the Great Hall. She then met Fred and George in an empty chamber off the hall, where they had hidden the fireworks in a shadowy corner, ready to be used later. They went over the plan one last time, and after they had made sure that their final preparations were complete, they wished each other good luck and snuck out again to join the rest of the school. Fred brushed past Hermione at the door without so much as looking at her. George, however, hung back to give her a quick one-armed hug, as if to reassure her that everything would be all right.

She very much hoped that it would. It had been difficult enough trying to hide the lumpy package in her robes from them, and she didn't think what she was planning to do with it later was going to go as smoothly, either.

Hermione went over to Harry and Ron while the twins went off to find Lee Jordan. They melded themselves into the group of chattering Gryffindors, and after a few tense minutes, the doors were thrown open and everyone began to pour into the Great Hall, buzzing with excitement. They gasped collectively at the sight that greeted them: clear glass balls that seemed to be emitting a faint, golden glow were floating along with the usual candles overhead, just beneath the enchanted ceiling, which was scattered with twinkling stars. The four long tables had been draped with tablecloths in their respective House colours, and they sparkled in the candlelight — it looked as if the house-elves had laid out some of Hogwarts' best cutlery. A few balconies had been constructed above, with narrow winding staircases leading up to them. They must have been for the play.

The teachers were sitting at the staff table, and they were wearing their best clothes. Hagrid, who was twice as tall as a normal man and had once again donned his quite horrible hairy brown suit, was easily the most noticeable of them all, and he beamed as the students entered. Professor Snape, however, was looking particularly vindictive, his lower lip curling with distaste. His idea of his "best clothes" seemed to be robes that were, if possible, an even darker shade of black than those he usually wore. The ghosts were shimmering here and there in a silvery haze; the Fat Friar waved merrily at them as them came in, and the Grey Lady, who was usually very detached, curtsied. Even the Bloody Baron looked less gaunt and surly, though he skulked in a corner of the room. Nearly-Headless Nick, on the other hand, was looking very festive indeed in a new plumed hat, which he swept off his wobbly head as the Gryffindors sat down.

Professor Dumbledore too was at the High Table, standing before the Headmaster's chair, resplendent in rich purple robes. He waited until everybody had seated themselves. They were all so excited that an unnatural hush fell over them at once; no one even seemed to be breathing.

"Good evening to you all," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling broadly, his voice echoing in the silence. "And a very Merry Christmas!"

The students applauded him, and several said "Merry Christmas!" in return. Dumbledore held up his hands, and the hall quieted again.

"I am sure you are all looking forward to tonight's entertainment," he said, surveying the bright, eager faces that looked up at him from each House table. "But before any of that, let us sink our teeth into our sumptuous feast!"

He clapped once, and the most mouth-watering array of dishes materialized onto the glittering platters. They all dug in immediately; it was without a doubt the best feast Hogwarts had thrown in living memory. Nearly-Headless Nick watched morosely as Ron scarfed down his food, but Hermione hardly touched her dinner at all, even after Ron had piled heaps of roast beef onto her plate and urged her to help herself.

"C'mon, eat up," he said thickly, his cheeks bulging with casserole.

"I'm not hungry," squeaked Hermione; eating would only force the butterflies out quicker, and watching Ron devour half a ham had already made her feel a little queasy.

"Are you all right?" asked Harry, concerned. "Look, I don't really mind that you don't want to tell us what you've been up to, but I've got a feeling this has got something to do with whatever that is. Just give us some sort of clue about why you haven't been yourself lately."

"I'm perfectly fine," Hermione said quickly, even though this was a complete lie. Harry didn't look convinced, either. He never was very sensitive, but he understood her more than Ron did most of the time.

"Well, you've got to eat something," said Harry, pushing her plate towards her. "It's really good."

"It's _amazing_," said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face. "Try these rolls, go on —"

"Or this cottage pie —"

"At least have a bit of onion soup —"

"No, thank you," said Hermione, as politely as she could. "I'm really not — not hungry."

Ron shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I'm telling you, you're missing out." And he bit a great chunk off a chicken drumstick.

"There's still the play," said Harry, who seemed to be trying to cheer her up as best he could.

Hermione tried to smile. She was sure the play was going to be fantastic.

It was just a shame she wouldn't be around to see it.

After the main course, they moved on to dessert (which included an assortment of sweets, cakes, differently-flavoured blocks of ice cream, and flaming Christmas puddings). But eventually, every last morsel melted away, leaving the plates as spotless as before. By then, Harry and Ron looked quite bloated; it was unsurprising, seeing as they had shovelled down second helpings of everything. The play would begin in a few short moments, and the students were beginning to talk among themselves again. Hermione glanced anxiously at Ron's watch; they were very close now….

The Headmaster got to his feet, effectively silencing the crowd once more. The other teachers rose from their seats as well and hurried away; a few students (including Dean Thomas from Gryffindor, who was very tall) climbed onto the wooden benches to peek through the small gap in the curtains through which the teachers were passing. Snape was last to disappear behind it, his black cloak billowing behind him as he strode off after his colleagues, giving the audience one last malevolent look.

"Now that we have feasted," said Professor Dumbledore, opening his arms wide, "at last we have come to our final Christmas treat!"

It was finally time. They wouldn't find a better opening. Hermione instinctively looked at Fred, but he was facing away from her, whether he meant to or not. Instead she locked eyes with George, who nodded firmly.

"If you will kindly move to the back of the hall...," said Dumbledore.

The students did as they were told and shuffled towards the back wall, Hermione keeping a close eye on Fred and George so that she wouldn't lose them in the bustling crowd. Professor Dumbledore made a long, sweeping motion with his wand, and the House tables vanished, to be replaced by comfy-looking chairs. The balconies above were filled with yet more chairs. Dumbledore gestured for them all to sit back down again, and in the midst of the scramble to get good seats, Hermione managed to catch hold of George's robes, and she, Fred, and George slipped through the doors unnoticed.

"This is it," said George after they had shut the door of the chamber off the hall, breathless with excitement. He and Fred were holding their brooms.

"You all right with waiting in the courtyard, Hermione?" asked George.

"Y-yes." The butterflies had multiplied now.

"D'you have the stuff, Fred?"

"Right here."

"Good. Let's go!"

They walked across the flagged stone floor of the empty entrance hall and stepped through the front doors, into the frigid night air. The sky had darkened to a deep, velvety blue, and wispy clouds drifted slowly across it. The moon was beautiful. Fred and George stepped to one side and spoke to each other in hushed voices while Hermione stood awkwardly apart. After a minute or two Fred moved away, and George walked over to her and whispered, "Don't worry about him, all right?"

"I'll take off first, then," he said, loud enough for Fred to hear as well, strapping one of their many briefcases to his broom. He mounted it and kicked off from the ground. He soared upward through the snow, did a few loops, and flew to the windows of the Great Hall, hovering just out of sight. Fred stood back, watching him.

"Aren't… aren't you going with him?" Hermione asked Fred.

"I think I'll stay here for a bit," he replied, turning to sit on a low wall between two pillars. He deposited the briefcases at his feet, leaned his broomstick against his leg, and stared up at the stars.

Hermione hesitated, but she took a careful step towards him.

"Do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

She sat down on the other side of the pillar. A cold wind blew through the courtyard; in the distance, Hermione could hear the branches in the Forbidden Forest creaking. She shivered involuntarily and rubbed her arms.

"Erm — are we on speaking terms again?" she said.

"I s'pose. I actually wanted to talk to you tonight." Fred suddenly sounded formal.

"Did — did you?" said Hermione. Her stomach seemed to have been replaced with lead.

"Yeah," said Fred. "George would have a field day if he heard any of this. I had to make sure we were alone first. Sorry for making you think that I was ignoring you."

"N-no, it's perfectly understandable."

Hermione waited for him to speak again, wringing her hands in her lap, and in the silence, they heard the students in the Great Hall laugh. Hermione wondered what could have been going on in the play; maybe Harry and Ron would tell her all about it later.

"You have _got _to see this!" called George gleefully from somewhere above. "Snape in that _cape_!"

Fred smiled, but he didn't say anything for a long while. Maybe he was anxious, too.

Hermione bit her lip, not wanting to be the one who brought it all up again. So instead she said, "H-how are you feeling? Nervous?"

"You'd think I would be, but I'm fine. Now that we're finally here, all that's left to do is put on the best show this school has ever seen, really. And we've pretty much got our act down pat."

"Lucky you, then. I feel dreadful."

"It'll all be over soon. The feast would've made you feel better."

"I didn't have much of an appetite," Hermione mumbled.

"I know," said Fred unabashedly. "You should have at least had some of the rhubarb pie. I'll get you some later — party's still on, you know." He paused. "By the way, what were you and George talking about this morning? After he sent me into the snowball fight?"

"Y-you saw?"

"Yeah."

Hermione flushed and said quietly, "He… talked to me about you."

Fred sighed.

"Figured he would. Did he tell you that I bawled my eyes out into my pillow? Because if he did, I swear, I'm going to take a pasty and stick it down his —"

"H-he didn't say anything like that at all," said Hermione, though George _had_ expressed his annoyance with Fred's moping and tactlessness. "He thought that his pranks on us had gone a bit too far and wanted to apologize for it. He also, er, gave me some advice. I changed my mind about wanting to watch the fireworks, you see, and he convinced me to come. He was very stubborn about it, actually."

"You didn't want to watch the fireworks anymore because of me, right?" said Fred softly.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here right now, aren't I?"

"And it's a good thing you are," said Fred. "I wouldn't want you to miss this for the world."

The students in the Great Hall clapped just then, their applause ringing through the courtyard.

"But did… did that mean no?" said Fred, after the noise had died away. "Back then, when you said never mind, did that you don't —"

"No!" Hermione said, half-shouting. Surprised at having raised her voice so suddenly, she flushed and said, in normal tones, "No. It didn't."

"Oh." Fred cleared his throat awkwardly. "To be honest, this scenario is completely different from how I imagined it. You know, I've been thinking about you a lot since last night. Got on George's nerves, too."

Hermione smiled, remembering George's exasperation.

"He guessed what happened and wouldn't stop poking fun at me for not accepting that he — that he was right," said Fred. "And I'm really sorry for throwing something like that at you out of the blue. It must've come as a bit of a shock."

Hermione shook her head before remembering that Fred couldn't see her.

"It wasn't that," she said. "You just made me nervous."

"I did?" Fred chuckled softly. "I don't think I've ever made a girl nervous before."

There was another cold gust of wind, and Hermione stuffed her hands into her pockets to keep them warm — but to her surprise, she found that there was already something inside one of them. Feeling around, she realized that it was the package she'd been hiding. She'd nearly forgotten it. She drew it out with shaking hands and stared at it. Either she gave it to him now or not at all.

"I've got something for you," she said abruptly, going red. She threw it around the pillar before he could ask any questions and heard him catch it. "It's a Christmas present." She listened as Fred unwrapped it, and for some reason she wished that she could just melt into nothingness. "I didn't give it to you sooner because I thought you were angry with me."

"I was never angry," said Fred. The wrapping paper fell away and Hermione saw it drift to the ground. It had begun to snow again.

"I-I've improved my knitting," said Hermione, feeling extremely embarrassed now. "You know, because of all the hats and things I made for the house-elves last year. I've been doing a lot of practice at home. And I thought — well — it would be really nice to make you something for Christmas, after everything you've done —"

"You made this for me?" murmured Fred. His voice sounded odd. His broom clattered to the floor as he stood up, and he stepped into view: he was holding the orange scarf she had spent weeks working on, looking at it as if he had never seen such a thing before.

"I expect your mum's made you loads of them before," Hermione said in a rush, "and I'm not as good at it as she is, and I did it by hand, so I'm sorry if it's a bit funny —"

Fred slowly wrapped it around his neck, then he looked at her. Laughter drifted out of the Great Hall once more.

"Are you _joking_?" he said croakily. "It's great!"

"Oh, thank goodness," said Hermione. She was just so relieved at the news that he wasn't angry with her that she kind of felt like crying.

"I was supposed to give you something, too," said Fred, "but I thought you wouldn't take it after… after what happened. And I didn't think you would like it."

"_I_ didn't think you would get me anything at all," said Hermione, bowing her head and dabbing her eyes with her collar on the pretence of doing up her coat buttons.

"Why wouldn't I?" said Fred with a hint of incredulity. "For the brightest witch of your age, you can be pretty slow sometimes."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Do I really need to spell it out?"

Hermione looked up so fast she cricked her neck — she hardly dared to believe it. Her vision had gone blurry with tears and her heart felt as though it had swelled to twice its normal size. She thought that this whole time Fred had been trying to tell her that he had realized that they would never work out. She thought that he had been trying to tell her that he was sorry, that it was all over, and to ask if they could forget everything and go back to how they were. Since the previous night she had been too afraid to hope that he wanted to be anything more than friends ever again.

But his words sounded so painfully real that she wished with every fibre of her being that he did.

Fred laughed, sounding exactly like his old self again.

"I'm in love with you, you idiot."

For one glorious, shining moment, time seemed to stop — the snow hung in the air around them, completely still, as though the whole world had frozen just for them. The smile on Fred's face was indescribable. Hermione didn't know how long she sat there, staring at him, the butterflies dancing madly in her stomach — but then the Great Hall erupted into cheers and she was jerked back to reality. Dimly, she could hear someone shouting at them, but she couldn't understand what he was saying — was it George?

"Fred! _Fred!_ Time to go, come on!"

It took Fred a few more moments to collect himself, but he finally wrenched his eyes away from hers, strapped the rest of the suitcases onto his fallen broom, and flew off, Hermione staring after him.

She peered into the sky….

There they were — George was opening one of the cases — both of them were tossing something into the air — she could hear gasps and screams and the frantic scraping of chairs from within the Great Hall —

And after another frozen second, the sky was ripped by a flash of colour. It was the most breathtaking thing Hermione had ever seen — millions of red and blue sparks danced against the black curtain of twinkling stars, which seemed to wink in and out of existence; sparklers rained gold and silver down on the castle like glittering coins; firecrackers whizzed through the air and cut across the sky like brilliant comets; there were giant rockets that shot straight up and burst into numerous smaller, whirling pinwheels that threw showers of pink and purple through the snow; and a great dragon of green swam gracefully through the air, baring its golden teeth and flicking its forked, fiery red tongue. From the dragon's wide mouth poured dancing balls of fire.

The oak front doors opened with an almighty bang and the rest of the school spilled out into the courtyard, gaping up at the lights. They _oohed _and _ahhed_ every time Fred and George launched another enchanted firework. The Gryffindors were shouting themselves silly; Ron and Harry were among those who clapped the hardest and shouted the loudest; and Lee Jordan punched the air repeatedly. Even a few of the Slytherins had joined in, though Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were glowering — it was clear that the incident in the corridor all those nights ago was still fresh in their minds. Meanwhile, the teachers' expressions ranged from mesmerized to utterly bewildered to frighteningly furious. Professor Snape, who was wearing a ridiculous red cape and pointed, high-heeled boots, and Argus Filch were beside themselves with anger, the latter's jowls aquiver. Mrs. Norris swiped the air with her paws, longing to bring the fireworks down. The ghosts were floating by the windows of the Great Hall and gazing, open-mouthed, at the sky, and Hermione thought she even saw the Bloody Baron smile. But Professor Flitwick, as Fred and George had predicted, was easily the most enthralled of them all — he had climbed onto a stool to get a better look and was hopping up and down in delight. In fact, he was so enthusiastic that he toppled off the stool and had to be helped up again by Professor McGonagall, who seemed to be trying hard to keep her face straight. Then there was Hagrid, whose shaggy head and broad shoulders towered above the rest, clapping furiously and hooting — and Professor Dumbledore, who had remained on the front steps and was looking up too; he was smiling.

Hermione gazed up at Fred as he laughed over the sea of spectators, zigzagging in and out of the snaking sparklers in a red and orange blur, his new scarf trailing behind him. He was in his element up there, and she felt so very proud of him. She felt proud of the person she had discovered him to be. And more importantly, she felt proud of the person she had watched him develop into. Why it had taken her so long to see how amazing he truly was, she didn't know. But there were tears in her eyes as she clapped with the rest.

At last Fred and George threw up the firework they had been saving especially for their finale, and Hermione watched her creation come to life. Her jaw dropped — what looked like an orange bud zoomed up and up and up until it looked as though it would fly straight into the moon — and then without warning, it erupted and bloomed into an enormous orange flower. Its petals waved and danced, then folded one by one before the whole thing exploded spectacularly; each of the petals spiralled down to the earth, scattering more sparks, and the center of the flower burst into a huge, golden "W".

"We introduce to you," roared Fred and George triumphantly over the din, "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs, brought to you by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! We've got trick wands, trick sweets, and of course, our fantastic fireworks!"

"Come down this instant!" growled Snape, whipping out his wand. But the rest of the staff made no moves to imitate him.

"Approach Fred Weasley —"

"— or George Weasley —"

"— for full details!"

"Weasley_ — _Weasley_ — get off those brooms!_"

"And make sure to stop by number ninety-three, Diagon Alley this summer!"

"We'll be waiting for you!"

"In the meantime —"

"— a very Merry Christmas to you —"

"— and a happy New Year!"

Fred and George high-fived each other and threw one last firework over their shoulders; before Snape could say anything else, they sped away on their brooms, through a shower of scarlet and gold sparks and into the night, to tumultuous applause that drowned out the rest of Snape's threats. The cheers and whoops and claps lasted a good five minutes before Professor Dumbledore sent red sparks from the tip of his wand and, smiling more widely than before, wished them all good night and ushered them back inside.

"Ah, the spirit of Christmas," he said good-naturedly. "But it's getting late! Off to bed with you now! Chop-chop!"

Hermione remained in the shadows of the pillars and watched as Snape, seething, tore off his cape and threw it to the ground. He then turned on his heel and stomped through the castle doors without another word, a look of pure rage on his sallow face. The students, who were all still marvelling at the twins' show (quite a few were singing carols at the top of their lungs and waving strings of tinsel over their heads like banners), followed in a disorganized group and trampled all over Snape's cape, shepherded by the other teachers. After the last of the stragglers had disappeared, only Dumbledore was left. He was standing in the center of the courtyard, chuckling softly to himself. He took one last look at the inky-black sky, winked at the spot where Hermione stood, hidden, and swept away towards the castle.

* * *

As promised, today will be the last update. I'll put up the next chapter right after this one. Gosh, I feel so emotional now dhgjfkdsghfdjslhgfks


	11. To Us

The Gryffindor common room was packed with people when Hermione came in, and each and every one of them was congratulating Fred and George on their success. People from every year were wringing their hands and patting their backs, and there were intermittent flashes of light as Colin Creevey frantically took photographs. A tiny first year boy squeaked that he wanted to be just like the twins someday, and George winked at him. Hermione stood in the doorway and watched as they were hoisted onto the crowd's shoulders, paraded around the room, and set back down again. The Gryffindor Quidditch team looked delighted for them — even Oliver Wood, who praised the flying they had displayed that night and asked them to use the same techniques in the next match; he was even saying something about trying them out himself in a training session with his new teammates. Harry and Ron were sampling some of the sweets from the twins' Skiving Snackboxes as a free demonstration, and onlookers observed them raptly, watching in fascination. They clapped loudly when Harry nibbled one end of a Fainting Fancy, dropped to the carpet, unconscious, had Ron force the other end of the sweet into his mouth, and stood up again, looking dazed but good as new. All around them people ate and drank; as George had promised, the party food had come from Hogsmeade (with the exception of several rhubarb pies), and when he saw her, he dashed over to her at once and pushed several bottles of butterbeer and pumpkin fizz into her arms.

"You are beyond _brilliant_, Hermione!" he said, looking windswept and absolutely elated, grinning from ear to ear. He picked her up and squeezed her tightly, laughing in her ear and spinning her around in circles until she was quite dizzy.

"O-oh, thank you," Hermione said breathlessly when he set her down again.

"It's been completely mad in here! Did you see any of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs outside? Blimey, they came all the way here to see us in person and tell us what a brilliant show that was! They're going to be talking about this for years! Even McGonagall came by! Said it was magnificent, and that Flitwick asked her to compliment us for him!"

"I'm so happy for you," said Hermione, and she truly meant it. Her heart was swelling with joy. They'd finally done it. After months of planning and hard work, it was finally over. But her eyes were drawn to Fred, who was standing on a pouf, waving and blowing kisses at the crowd. He was still wearing her scarf.

George looked over his shoulder to see what she was looking at, and he turned back to her, smiling knowingly. He jerked his head towards his brother and took the bottles from Hermione's arms — all but two.

"Go on," he said.

Hermione waded through the swarm of admirers surrounding Fred and stopped by his pouf. He saw her and hopped down. Neither of them spoke — it seemed that they couldn't quite find the right words. His brown eyes searched her face, and she gazed back at him. She had never seen him wear such a tender expression. Fred Weasley loved her, she thought.

After what felt like several years, Fred nodded at the bottles.

"You saving those for anyone?"

Hermione smiled and said, "Maybe."

He offered her his arm.

"Then let's take a walk."

* * *

They strolled through the deserted castle, talking and laughing and congratulating each other for a job well done. Fred was holding her hand. They weren't worried about getting caught; after seeing Dumbledore's reaction to their show, they didn't think that leaving the common room and breaking curfew would be any more dangerous for them than throwing fireworks over the school without permission. The Fat Lady and her friend Violet were dozing off against the frame as they tiptoed past her painting, trying not to wake them up. There was a half-empty glass of red wine clutched in her limp hand, threatening to stain her pink silk dress, and the pair of them were giggling in their sleep. Fred and Hermione stopped at an open window somewhere far away and watched the snow swirl through the crisp night air, which felt sharp as glass as they breathed it in. They each took a butterbeer and had a private toast.

"To us," said Fred as he raised his bottle, "and the many wizard wheezes to come."

The butterbeer warmed them up instantly; the heat spread all the way down to the tips of Fred's fingers and toes, replacing the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins. He now felt quite peaceful.

"But that's supposed to be for you and George," said Hermione.

"Actually, he was the one who told me to say it to you. Er — he says it was to make up for not giving me tips. He also said it had something to do with you giving me a lesson on sophistication. I don't suppose you know what that means?"

Hermione choked on her butterbeer and giggled.

"I'm starting to think that my present wasn't enough; I'm going to give him another one," she said with a wide smile. "Overall, this has been a pretty eventful Christmas, wouldn't you agree? I don't think I'll ever recover."

"I'll give you better ones."

"Any Christmas with you is bound to be an eventful one, either way," Hermione said, laughing.

"I didn't actually get an answer from you, though," Fred said casually.

"Well, I didn't think you needed one," said Hermione, and she knew that Fred understood. It didn't need saying anymore.

"I'll miss you, though," she said quietly after a few minutes.

"Oh, don't think about it just yet," said Fred breezily. "We've still got until the end of the year. You've got the O.W.L.s to study for, so don't let me distract you too much."

"I'm not worried about that. _You've_ got a couple of matches left before you win the Cup. Oliver hasn't wasted two months of his life for nothing, so you'd better put all these extra training sessions to good use."

"No guarantees there. But don't you feel like giving me a royal tongue-lashing about my N.E.W.T.s? Not even a _teensy_ bit? I'll let you have a go, come on."

"You've got Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes now. I know what's more important to you."

Fred had the sudden overwhelming urge to embrace her.

"God, do I love you," he sighed.

"Enough of that," said Hermione sternly, but she blushed nonetheless. "And I seem to remember you and George promising me to get yourselves less than five detentions between you for the rest of the year. I'll be watching."

"Damn," said Fred. "You know, if I were talking to someone else right now, they'd have forgotten about that."

"You weren't so lucky when you picked me." Hermione smiled sadly. "The fact is, neither of us will have much spare time."

"It's not like I'll be saying goodbye forever. I'll write you every day. And let me know when you've got Hogsmeade weekends so I can come visit you."

"Oh, but you really don't have to. I mean, leaving George to run the shop just so you can —"

"I'm doing it because I want to be with you," he chuckled. "I'm not forcing myself to do anything. Anyway, you won't even have time to miss me — I'll be haunting your dreams night after night, making sure you don't suck all the fun out of this place once I'm gone."

"I'll certainly try."

Fred didn't know how, but he found that they were standing very close to each other now. The bushy brown hair that he loved so much was gilded with silver from the moonlight. She looked up at him, and he had the strangest, most powerful impulse to…

Slowly, and very, very gently, he tilted her chin up and braced himself, waiting for her to slap him and tell him off for trying to take advantage of her. But the sting of her hand never came. She only stood still, her face angled towards his, her eyelids flickering… He could have counted her eyelashes...

After a moment's hesitation — an inch from her mouth, her hot breath against his skin and his heart pumping violently inside him — he pressed his lips softly against hers. It felt warmer than all the butterbeers in the world; the feeling flooded through him like a shot of firewhisky, and suddenly he felt like he could do anything. It felt as though all the summers he had ever had — gorgeous mornings with George and Ron and Ginny as they threw apples at one another for Quidditch practice all the way back at their orchard by the Burrow; or lazy afternoons sitting in the sweltering heat of the garden while their mother made them mash parsnips in a bowl, sticking out their tongues at the gnomes that peered out from the peony bushes; or sitting with George in their bedroom at dusk, waiting for night to fall, both holding mugs of iced pumpkin juice and planning their next big adventure — had been encompassed in that one kiss: Hermione tasted like the sun, warm and bright and familiar, and almost seemed to promise him the days ahead. He never wanted it to end. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they felt so right there that it was hard to believe that until two months ago, they hardly knew each other. It was funny, Fred thought, how love could change you.

He reluctantly pulled away and looked at her, realizing that he now had the license to do that whenever he wanted. He grinned, unable to contain his happiness.

"How did I do? As well as Viktor Krum?"

Hermione burst into laughter.

"Even better," she said. She raised her hand to his face, and he sighed, leaning into her touch. "Thank you, Fred."

"You're welcome," he breathed, closing his eyes. "But can I ask what for?"

"I'm not really sure. I just wanted to say it."

"If it's for that hell of a kiss, you're invited to as many of them as you like."

Hermione laughed again. They both gazed out of the window again; they had a perfect view of the moon from there. In only a few months, Fred wouldn't get to see her whenever he wanted anymore… But at least now he had given her a reason to write him and visit as often as she could.

Hermione seemed to be on the same wavelength as him, because she said softly, "Ninety-three Diagon Alley, was it?"

"Yep. For you, the shop'll be open all day, every day."

"I'd like that," said Hermione, smiling.

"Just make sure to come by every week, or else I'll be forced to take away your privileges. You're going to have to work extra-hard to get them back."

"Yes, all right." Hermione stroked his face, and Fred felt a swooping sensation inside him — this girl was _his_. Then she smiled feebly and said, "I wonder what Ron will say when he finds out about this. Have I told you that he didn't seem too keen on the idea of us going out?"

"George and I can handle him — we don't want him turning into an old maid, either."

"I hope he doesn't take it too badly…," she said, rearranging Fred's scarf. "It looks good on you."

"You made it," said Fred, chuckling.

"By the way," Hermione said suddenly, "you said something about a present…? I'm not forcing you to give me anything, though. I'm just curious."

"Oh, that," he said. "Well, I've already given it to you, haven't I?"

"You have?" she asked, puzzled.

"That kiss."

Hermione stared.

"Does that mean you've been planning to kiss me for Christmas for a while now?"

"Since I realized that I fancied you," corrected Fred. "I'm not entirely dumb, but I'm afraid I'm not really good with gift ideas. I thought about giving you a book. But I figured you really need to get out more."

"Oh, thanks a lot."

"Of course, this plan did have its drawbacks — I guess I'm lucky that you felt the same for me, after all; I don't even want to think about what you would've done to me if you didn't."

"I didn't realize you could be so… well, sentimental."

"If you didn't like it, then would you like me to buy you your own library next year?"

"Now you're just making fun of me."

"Yes, I am," said Fred smugly. "Because I can, and because I know that from now on there's a smaller chance that you're going to hit me if I do."

"That's where you're wrong," Hermione said, playfully punching him in the shoulder. "You're not safe just because we're seeing each other now. Anyway, I… I never said I didn't like it." She went pink again. "I-it was very nice."

Then the tender look came back into Fred's eyes, and he put his arms around her waist, drawing her closer to him. Their foreheads touched.

"I should really thank Harry again for giving us his Triwizard winnings," he murmured. "If we hadn't started Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes properly, we wouldn't be here and I'd still think you were a Percy-in-training."

"So _that's _where you got your funds," said Hermione with some satisfaction. "I've always wondered how you and George were able to afford making things, much less your own premises."

"Whoops," said Fred. "Not sure if I should have told you that. Keep quiet about it, all right? Harry might've wanted to keep it secret — and for good reason. Mum will go for his throat too if she finds out he's our financial backer."

"Since Harry's managed to avoid imminent death this year, I'd like it to stay that way for as long as possible. I promise I won't tell anyone," said Hermione with a wry smile. "But I'll need to have a talk with him about this."

"Do you know, though," Fred said thoughtfully, "there's one last person we've forgotten."

"Really? Who — another supplier of yours?" guessed Hermione.

"Well… I've half a mind to thank Hagrid for getting a crup," Fred whispered, before leaning down to kiss her again.

* * *

First of all, writing this fic's been a blast. I've never had more fun writing a story, and if you've been here since the beginning, I'd like to thank you for sticking with me until the very end. Your reviews were fantastic and hilarious, and I love them so much. I'm actually toying with the idea of maybe making an epilogue for this, but we'll see.

At any rate, that's a wrap for To Us, and I hope you enjoyed it. ;)


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